


Shifting Targets (BG1)

by Zhenta



Series: The Patchwork Soul [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 180,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhenta/pseuds/Zhenta
Summary: BGEE: Having disposed of Gorion, Sarevok is determined to murder his ward. Luckily for Arowan she has her friends looking out for her, even if the price for their company is constant teasing about a certain monk. Meanwhile Viconia is stuck with the whiniest male on the surface and dissatisfaction with Jaheira's leadership threatens to tear the party apart. COMPLETE





	1. Nashkel

 

_Beautiful cover art from commission by Luupetitek! LtR: Arrow, Jaheira, Khalid._

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_**Tumblr:** <https://luupetitek.tumblr.com>_

 

 

"There is a serious matter we must discuss," Jaheira began haughtily.

The mismatched party sat in a ring by their tents on the grass outside of Nashkel, having insufficient gold to spare for both healing potions and the outrageously overpriced inn. Xzar had his spell book open and was muttering to himself. Every so often his fingers emitted purple sparks. Montaron was picking his toenails with his dagger.

"We are paying far too much for our supplies," Jaheira went on. "Potential allies shun us and more importantly our investigations into the Nashkel mines are being seriously hampered by people's unwillingness to share information with us."

"W-we're not blaming any one person… um… please don't take offence," Khalid fumbled. "Only we think it m-may be a leadership issue."

He fiddled with his shield, his face starting to turn red to match his hair. His wife, however, was on her feet with her piercing blue glare fixed firmly on Gorion's ward.

"Calling it a leadership issue kinda makes it sound like you _are_ blaming one person," Arrow ventured after an uncomfortable pause.

"They do have a point Arrow," Imoen chipped in gently. "You know we love you but…"

"…your company is an acquired taste," finished Jaheira firmly.

Arrow glared at her, stung. Imoen sighed. Despite both the girls' relative isolation growing up in the great library of Candlekeep, Imoen had managed through sheer persistence to find adults to chat to. Reluctant monks, visiting nobles, a guard or two. Enough to hone basic conversational skills. Arrow on the other hand…

"Perhaps if you w-were a little friendlier?" suggested Khalid tentatively.

"How am I not friendly?" frowned Arrow.

"Not everyone appreciates your constant sarcasm," said Jaheira.

"Or your bluntness," added Khalid.

"The eyerolling is a bad habit too," said Imoen, scratching at the ground with a small stick.

"I don't roll my eyes!" protested Arrow.

"You are rolling them right now."

"Sod all this pussyfooting around!" Montaron snarled. "What they are trying to tell ye is that ye've the charisma of a sewer dog carrying a dead rat in her mouth!"

Arrow looked horrified.

"Is my breath really that bad? We've been on the road for days! I'm doing my best!"

"It is not your breath," sighed Jaheira, folding her arms. "The issue is not primarily one of personal hygiene but one of personality."

"And lack thereof," added Xzar helpfully, not looking up from his book.

Arrow got to her feet, brushing dirt from her legs. She stood to look her glaring half-elf guardian in the eye. Jaheira's carefully placed use of the word 'primarily' regarding her personal hygiene had not escaped her notice. It was true that compared to the half-elf's perfectly braided locks, Arrow's own hair resembled a basket of wool in a cattery and her face was streaked with mud. She wondered sometimes how the half-elf did her hair so neatly with no mirror. In fact Arrow had never even seen her wash it, and yet there was never so much as a strand out of place. Perhaps Khalid braided it for his wife. That notion amused her.

"Ye couldn't negotiate a bar fight with a pissed off ogre is what she's trying ter tell ye," translated Montaron. At the mention of a bar, Imoen cast a longing glance at the inn. Even from this distance the smell of meat roasting was just detectable. The party had not eaten anything but dry bread and berries for three days in a row and tempers were running high.

"So pick another leader then," shrugged Arrow. "I don't recall volunteering to be party leader. Khalid! Congratulations, you are now leader."

"What? Me?" squeaked the half-elf, looking positively terrified at the notion. "N-no. Jaheira my love, surely?"

"I am the best negotiator in this group," she stated, ignoring Montaron's snort of derision. "I suggest that I take the lead for now."

Montaron shook his head and got to his feet while Xzar let out a faint hiss, closing his spell book with a snap.

"Yer telling me I have to take orders from that shrieking harpy?" the halfling growled, pointing his dagger at Arrow's face.

"I'm not telling you to do anything," smirked Arrow. "I'm not leader any more. Charisma of a sewer dog, remember? The shrieking harpy is the one telling you that you have to take her orders, not me. I don't care what you do."

Jaheira glared at both of them.

"Uncalled for remarks like that, child, are the exact reason that you have lost your leadership responsibilities!"

"A tragic personal loss, yet one I feel I could get over with time," replied Arrow dryly, eyeing Montaron's knife which was still pointing at her.

There was a ping of metal on metal. Khalid had drawn his own sword and used it to gently flip Montaron's dagger from his palm and away from Arrow with a warning look at the halfling.

"Why you-"

"Catch," called Arrow, tossing Montaron her own hunting knife. Unfortunately the halfling caught it by the blade, and dropped it with a curse and a light shower of blood. "Sorry about that," she grinned, not looking sorry at all. "I thought if you were going to stab me you might not want to use your favourite toenail picking knife. With my 'personal hygiene issues' you might catch something nasty!"

"You caught something nasty when you picked up these two," Jaheira snapped, jabbing a finger at Xzar.

"Your knife, my knife... Anything sharp will do girly," growled Montaron, picking up the hunting knife and starting toward Arrow with a nasty glint in his eye.

Xzar stepped between them hastily, with what he probably imagined was a disarming smile.

"Monty, my dear! Numbers!" he managed through a manic grin. The halfling thief looked from his only ally to the rest of the party, his eyes lingering on Khalid's broadsword. With a disgusted grunt he threw the knife at Arrow's feet.

Arrow picked it up and slipped it into her belt.

"I'm going hunting," she said. "With the permission of our glorious new leader of course?"

"Try to bring back something bigger than a pigeon this time," snapped Jaheira.

Arrow set off toward the woods without a backward glance.

Under the cover of the trees and gathering darkness Arrow's irritation began to dissipate. She always felt calmer in the wild. She walked off the path for a good quarter hour until the village and the road were out of earshot and the ground had become thick with twisting roots and fallen leaves. They made a satisfying crunching noise under her boots. At best she had an hour until nightfall. Not that she minded hunting in the dark, but the others would start worrying and come after her.

A quick investigation of the forest floor revealed pellet-droppings and a number of burrows. She quickly set a series of small snares, hoping at least for some breakfast in the morning, and carried on into the wood. There was no sign or sound of any larger prey nearby. A little further in and the tinkle of running water drew her attention. If she concealed herself behind a tree, arrow notched, it was possible that some small prey might come for a drink. It was a slim hope but she decided to chance it anyway.

As she drew closer she heard a shuffling. Her heartrate increased and she snuck forward as quietly as she could, reaching behind her for an arrow. Something was breathing by the water. Something quite large. A wolf perhaps? Wolves did not taste great, but meat was meat. She took a deep breath, burst out of the clearing and loosed her arrow in the direction of the noise.

To her horror it hurtled from her grasp in the direction of a tattooed man. He saw it coming and dodged but not quite quickly enough, and let out a gasp of pain and surprise as it pierced his left shoulder.

"I'm sorry," yelped Arrow. "I didn't see any human tracks, I- I thought you were an animal!"

The man rose to his feet. Arrow was relieved to see that he was unarmed and so unlikely to counter attack. Wincing, he grabbed the arrow shaft and pulled it out. Then, to her astonishment, he cleaned the blood off of it with the corner of his shirt and handed it back to her.

"Excuse me. I did not mean to interrupt your hunt," the stranger said in a low voice.

"Thanks," she murmured, embarrassed. She took the arrow, privately thanking Ilmater that she had not hit a wandering child and vowing to be more careful from now on. "Were you hunting too?"

"I was performing my evening meditations," the man replied. In the fading light, Arrow could see the bald head, the markings. Yes, of course, the man must be a monk. She was used to seeing them around. Gorion had been friends with a pair of them, and they had hung around Candlekeep for years, though they rarely exchanged words with her. "Have you ever stopped to contemplate the moonlight reflected on water?"

"Have I what?" Arrow replied, bemused. This was not a normal reaction to being shot, unprovoked, by a complete stranger.

"My name is Rasaad yn Bashir," he said, bowing politely. "I am a monk of the Sun Soul Order."

He paused, waiting for her name.

"Arrow," she said.

He frowned in a slightly puzzled way. Then, like a light switching on, his expression changed as though he had understood something. His heavily inked face split into a compassionate smile.

"Yes," he said gently. He had a lovely soft voice, with a Calishite accent. "It _is_ an arrow. That's very clever. A-rr-ow. Arrows can be dangerous though. I think you should go home and give the arrow back to your parents don't you? Do you know where home is? Can you find it by yourself or do you need me to come with you?"

He was speaking very slowly and carefully as one might address a young child. Arrow felt her cheeks burn.

"No, you don't understand," she said hastily. "Arrow is my-"

"Of course. The arrow is yours," he said gently. "I won't steal your nice arrow. You can get home ok?"

"Yes but-"

"Don't worry," he smiled reassuringly. "You are not in any trouble. Be careful playing with arrows though. Remember they can be dangerous."

He tapped the wound on his shoulder and started to walk at speed back in the direction of Nashkel. Arrow gave up, mortified, and headed back toward camp. Though it was pitch black when she returned she located it at a distance by the flickering orange glow of the campfire. Jaheira was still up waiting for her, arms crossed.

"Did you manage to catch us anything edible?" she asked imperiously.

"My love," implored Khalid. "You can see she didn't catch anything and she only had a couple of hours."

"I shot something," said Arrow miserably. "But it wasn't edible."

"Arrow!" exclaimed Jaheira. "You know better than to shoot things you are not going to eat! Show some respect to mother nature!"

"Don't worry. It got away," Arrow replied. "I'm tired and I don't want to talk about it," she added before the other woman could ask what it was she had shot.

"Bah! Useless brat!" came a disappointed grunt from Montaron's tent.

They fell asleep one by one, hungry and grumpy. In the morning Arrow got up early to check her snares but returned with nothing more than a pair of dew soaked boots. She did not dawdle long in the woods to spare herself the embarrassment of running into the bald monk who believed her to be mentally incapacitated a second time.

"Since our conversations with the locals have been unproductive," Jaheira began with a reproving glare at Arrow. "We will try a more direct approach by travelling to the mines themselves."

They packed their tents, finished what little bread they had left and set off toward the town. It was hard to ignore the smell of bacon and eggs wafting from the tavern door as they crossed the bridge leading into Nashkel. Arrow could hear Imoen's stomach growling. She found herself hoping to encounter monsters in the mines for a few scraps of coin… or failing that their meat.

"Such feats are easy when you learn to focus their energies through the light of Selune."

A calm Calishite voice, the top of a bald head above a small circle of onlookers. Oh gods. The monk from last night. Arrow froze in horror. She scanned around for a way to avoid him but he was right on the other side of the bridge and there was no easy escape. He seemed preoccupied with his audience though. If the group just kept walking…

"Hey! What are you doing there?" called Imoen loudly. Arrow cringed.

"Thank you for asking. My name is Rasaad. I am merely demonstrating some of the ways in which we Sun Soul monks reflect our spiritual light through physical activity."

Arrow pulled her ranger's hood down low over her face, tucking away her long brown hair.

"May I tell you more about the Sun Soul Order?"

"Actually we were kind of in a hurry," said Arrow urgently from under her hood.

"Please do Rasaad! OUCH!" cried Imoen. Arrow had stepped violently on her foot. "You trod on me!" Arrow cursed silently. "What did you do that for?"

"Accident. Sorry," replied Arrow between gritted teeth, trying to keep her face concealed.

"Idiot!" Imoen snapped. "It'd help if you could see where you were going!" With a sharp yank she pulled the other girl's hood down.

Arrow rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed. There was no getting out of this situation now. She sent a last desperate plea to Ilmater that the monk would not recognize her (it had been quite dark after all) but her prayer was in vain.

"Please, do not call this poor lady an idiot," Rasaad said, looking at Arrow with deep concern. "Selune calls upon us all to exercise patience and compassion when dealing with those… in difficulty." He smiled kindly at Arrow. "Well met again my friend."

In full daylight she could see that the monk had a pleasant, handsome face under the tattoos. He had removed his shirt for his martial arts demonstration. Her eyes drifted from his muscular physique to the partially healed arrow wound through his shoulder. Apparently, the monk could not afford a more expensive healing spell. She winced guiltily.

Jaheira had noticed the arrow wound too.

"When you said you shot something last night but it wasn't edible?" she began suspiciously. Arrow pretended not to hear her.

"Well met indeed," Arrow addressed Rasaad. "I… er… I'm sorry about before. Shooting you, I mean."

"Arrow…?" Jaheira began dangerously.

"Yes, indeed. She shot me with an arrow but I have visited the temple and am relatively unharmed," replied Rasaad graciously.

"You shot a Sun Soul monk?" gasped Khalid, horrified. "Oh, h-how could you?"

"Not on purpose obviously!" moaned Arrow, wishing that the ground would part beneath her feet and suck her under.

"Are you this girl's parents?" enquired Rasaad.

"Do we look old enough to be her parents?" snapped Jaheira indignantly. "We have the profound misfortune to be her guardians!"

Rasaad looked at Arrow with deepest pity. The small crowd of onlookers had now focussed their attention on the monk and the poor slow ward travelling with her unkind guardians. Arrow detested being the centre of attention even when it was for positive reasons. Last year she had even slipped away from her own birthday party to avoid the stares and people making small talk. She had never understood why Gorion had put her through the annual hell of birthday parties. Maybe he believed forcing her to be sociable once a year would be enough to rescue her failing charisma. If so, it hadn't worked.

"As her guardians I feel I must caution you against allowing your charge to play unsupervised with weapons. My training and discipline allowed me to walk away without lasting damage, but a child in the woods might not be so fortunate. Or were she to accidentally shoot at one of the militia they may not be so understanding. Forgive me. I do not wish to speak out of turn. I say this only out of concern."

Montaron let out a snort of laughter. Out of the corner of her eye Arrow could see Imoen's shoulders shaking silently and even Khalid seemed to be struggling to suppress a smile.

"This is all a misunderstanding," she began, her face scarlet. "I'm not-"

"Oh, she is a tragic case sir," interjected Montaron. "Mother was a troll ye see, father was a human. The hope was she'd grow up to be as smart as a human and as strong as a troll. As it turned out she's as smart as a troll and as strong as a human."

"I am… sorry to hear that," said Rasaad. Arrow pinched the bridge of her nose. Surely this could get no worse.

"Tis a hard thing to keep her fed though," sighed Montaron. "She inherited her appetite from her mother you see. Her guardians are left without a gold coin to their name. Poor things had to sell their hovel and take to the road. Ate them out of house and home she did."

"That's enough Montaron," said Jaheira.

"Penny for the freak sir, that's all we ask," Montaron appealed to the monk.

Fortunately for Arrow, at that moment salvation came stumbling out of the tavern in the form of a drunken heckler.

"Hey! What are you supposed to be then? Some sort of kickpuncher? Come on, take a poke at me I dares ya!" the man swayed slightly as he spoke. Arrow could have kissed his beer-scented lips.

"I come not to fight but to demonstrate a few-" Rasaad began.

"Oh so that's how it is eh?" the drunk cut in tapping the side of his nose. "You prance about pretending to be some sort of hard man but really you're just a coward, right?"

"Ok let's go now," hissed Arrow. "We're wasting time here. The mines await."

"Nah, I'm enjoying this," said Montaron cheerfully. "Besides yer not the leader no more. Ye don't get to say when we go."

Arrow looked to Jaheira for support but received nothing but a disapproving glare.

"You have injured this man through sheer incompetence," she said. "We are going nowhere until we have healed him. Properly."

Rasaad was still talking to the tavern drunk who, despite a very clear difference in physique between them, nevertheless seemed determined to provoke a conflict.

"Oh I gets it. You're some kind of simpering priest. Just pretending you knows how to fight but really just begging for coins, yeah?"

Arrow was impressed to see that the monk was still refusing to take the bait.

"A Sun Soul monk uses mind, body and spirit in equal portions, but not to prove his martial superiority. Rather, he seeks to better the lives of those around him."

"Yeah, yeah. Save it for temple school boy. If you're not going to fight nobody I wont waste any more time on you."

"Good for you Rasaad. I admire a man who stands up for his principles, even in the face of ignorance," Arrow said maturely, spotting an opportunity to correct his mistaken impression that she was half-witted. Rasaad looked at her, clearly surprised by her capacity to produce an intelligent sentence.

"I thank you," said the monk. "It is not always easy. In truth I enjoy a good fight if it is to improve my skills or to defend a just cause. Fighting that man would have enlightened no one. You seem like someone who would appreciate the tenets of my order. May I tell you more about Selune and the Sun Soul monks?"

"Certainly," she replied, trying to sound intelligent. She held out a hand. "Arrow."

"I already returned your arrow," he replied, confused. "At least I think I did. My memory of yesterday evening is a little hazy. The walk to the temple was long and I'm afraid I lost quite a lot of blood on the way."

Arrow flinched and bit her lip, feeling Jaheira's glare drilling into the back of her skull.

"I misremembered and have failed to retain your arrow," he said bowing. "I apologise."

"Arrow is my name," she said awkwardly. "Actually it's really Arowan but when I was five I stole a bow from the guard house and I've been shooting ever since so the monks started calling me Arrow instead and… erm… it kind of stuck."

She babbled all this very quickly. So much for sounding intelligent.

"We er… we have a druid in our party. If you like we could heal the rest of that wound?"

Rasaad perked up at this offer.

"Yes, please do. If you can," he said enthusiastically. "Truth be told it is quite sore but I was not able to afford the full services of the temple. I have had trouble making ends meet since coming to Nashkel."

"Haven't we all?" said Montaron. "Still at least we have an accomplished ranger in our group who can keep us well fed with her expert hunting skills."

"Oh do shut up and let me concentrate," said Jaheira, inspecting the monk's shoulder.

"She has been practising archery since she was five," Montaron said to Rasaad conversationally. Arrow said nothing. Having seen the monk's example of calm in the face of provocation, she resolved to prove herself equally restrained.

"Indeed," said Rasaad, almost innocently. "Most archers would require enchanted arrows to deliver so much damage to a trained monk with a single shot."

Arrow bit down on her tongue to stop herself from responding.

"Oh yes," agreed Montaron. "We are never short of food in this group." Arrow kept her face determinedly neutral. Rasaad had not risen to it with the drunk man and she would not rise to it with Montaron.

"What do you mean?" cried Imoen. "Arrow hasn't caught anything for days and even then it was just a couple of mangy pigeons! I'm literally starving!"

Arrow's neutral façade broke at this and her face split into a strained grin.

"Yes Imoen, I think that was Montaron's point," said Arrow testily. "He was being sarcastic. We've discussed the concept."

Though intelligent in many ways, sarcasm was always lost on Imoen. Either she genuinely did not understand it, or she intentionally feigned naiveite in the face of Arrow's daily bombardment of comments. It was probably why Imoen was one of the very few people who actually liked spending time with her.

"There," said Jaheira, "You are healed. Onward to the mines. We must take our leave of you monk, unless you would care to accompany us? We are investigating the iron shortage. There may be some fighting involved when we get there."

"W-we could use some less e-evil additions to the group," added Khalid. "W-we'd be happy to h-have you."

"S-s-s-speak for yourself," hissed Xzar in a cruel imitation of Khalid's stutter.

"If doing so would help others to find their inner light, I would be glad to join you," said Rasaad. "If… if that is acceptable to you of course Arrow. You seemed somewhat keen to avoid me earlier and I would prefer not to find myself on the receiving end of another of your shots."

"I will try to avoid it," grinned Arrow. "Welcome to the party."


	2. Nashkel Mines

The trek from Nashkel to the mines was pleasant enough. Jaheira led the way with Khalid and Xzar. The mad wizard was telling them a revolting anecdote about an eyeball dissection he had performed as an apprentice, ignoring Khalid's green countenance and the druid's angry rebukes. He twisted his emerald velvet sleeve as he spoke and every so often let out a burst of inappropriate giggles. Arrow and Imoen walked either side of Rasaad, filling him in on the unfortunate recent events that had led to them being on the road. Montaron skulked along behind.

Suddenly the halfling thief let out a howl of anguish. The party whipped around, weapons at the ready. Xzar had half-summoned a magic missile when they realised that there were no monsters to battle. Instead Montaron was staring in horror at his own dagger. His blade had turned a poisonous orange streaked with black. Flakes of tainted metal were peeling off it and fluttering away with the breeze.

"Curse ye all," snarled Montaron, hurling the splintered, corroded remnants at the ground. It burst on contact into a cloud of foul coppery-smelling powder.

"Alas. The iron crisis claims another victim," sighed Xzar.

Montaron was kicking rocks and muttering curses under his breath. He was clearly quite attached to his former dagger. The others did not imagine that he would have been half so upset had one of them exploded.

"It is unfortunate," said Arrow comfortingly. "But maybe there's a bright side. Would you mind removing your boots Monty?"

"Remove my boots? What for?" came the wary response.

"That is the same dagger you were using to clean your toenails with when we made camp last night, right?" she asked innocently.

"So what?" growled Montaron. He was wearing a dangerous expression and Arrow knew deep down that winding him up now would not be a smart move. The setup, however, was just too good for someone like her to resist.

"So," she continued recklessly, "I reckon that if your foot grease has the power to corrode solid iron, then scraping my arrow heads against your toes could make them extra deadly. Poison and acid, all in one shot."

Her remark did not earn her the big laugh she felt it deserved. Imoen produced a weak smile, Jaheira shook her head disapprovingly and Rasaad blinked as though he just didn't get it. The only one who seemed to find it even a little bit amusing was the mad wizard, but he giggled at trees so he didn't count.

"Poisoned by Montaron's toenail juice? Our enemies don't deserve that!" cackled Xzar.

"Yer both very lucky I don't have a dagger right now," Montaron snarled.

He hitched up his pack and started down the trail again, but found his way blocked by the druid's spear. For a moment Arrow thought he was so angry that he might attack her with his bare fists, but he seemed to think the better of it and came to a halt.

"Why did you have your dagger out in the first place Montaron?" asked Jaheira suspiciously.

"As it happens I was having the loveliest daydream," explained Montaron smiling wistfully, "Here I was walking along in the sun, listening to the birds sing… and imagining what fun it would be to plunge my dagger between your witty ranger's shoulder blades." In a flash Khalid's sword and Jaheira's spear were poking at his throat. "Bah. Killjoys. Look me in the eye and tell me _ye've_ never thought about it."

"Fantasies about murdering Arrow are one thing, we all have those" snarled Jaheira. Arrow scowled at her. "But drawing your dagger while you think about it is something else. That suggests intent!"

"You can't blame her," said Imoen, patting Arrow on the shoulder. "We've all thought about stabbing you from time to time."

"I haven't!" protested Rasaad. Arrow smiled at him.

"You've only known her a day," pointed out Imoen, "But already she has shot you for no reason and left you bleeding in the wood. How do you think you're going to feel about her after a week?"

The monk considered this. Truth be told he was enjoying having travelling companions again. He had been on his own for some time now and was growing lonelier than he cared to admit. The two friends' easy chatter was a welcome distraction from brooding over his brother and the Athkatla Order. Admittedly Jaheira was slightly intimidating and so far, he found that he did not care for Xzar or Montaron, but overall, he felt that the discomfort of the previous night was a small price to pay to join this group.

"I'm so underappreciated," Arrow sighed dramatically to Rasaad. "Here I am coming up with innovative solutions to help the party in our coming battles, and what do I get? Verbal abuse."

"I think perhaps Montaron may have been offended by the implication that his feet are toxic," Rasaad observed. "In most cultures that I have travelled to with my order, such an insinuation would be considered impolite. Perhaps that is why he is being abusive?"

Arrow's lip twitched. "Yeah Rasaad. That's probably it."

She couldn't quite figure out whether the monk was deliberately playing with her or whether living in a monastery since childhood had really rendered him so adorably clueless. Or perhaps he was still under the impression that she was clueless. She walked a little further, watching her feet kick up little stones along the path.

"Have you considered apologizing?" suggested the monk helpfully.

Arrow grinned at him mischievously. Surely, this time there could be no mistake. He had to be taking the biscuit now? Yet his calm, brown eyes betrayed nothing but honest sincerity. Still, accidentally or not, he had provided her with the opening to take another poke at the thief and she was not about to waste it.

"Monty I am truly very sorry for my remark about your toes," said Arrow, fluttering her eyelashes and trying her best to look contrite. "I do not really believe that your feet are deadly. I could eat my dinner off them and trust that I would suffer no worse than a week of food poisoning. Possibly permanent incapacitation too, but not death."

"Considering," the thief snarled, "That yer the reason we have no dinner, to eat off of my feet, or any other surface, you would be well advised to keep remarks like that to yourself."

"You don't _have_ to rely on my hunting you know," she pointed out. "You are supposed to be thieves, you and Imoen. Have either of you considered the possibilities that stealing from someone who isn't in your own party might have to offer you? I'm not the only one letting the team down when it comes to class specialties. Just saying."

Montaron glared at Arrow with murderous eyes.

"Sleep lightly girly," he warned.

As it turned out Arrow did not sleep lightly. In fact, she slept very heavily when they stopped for the night, despite the cold jagged stones digging through her bedroll. Had Montaron made good on his implied threat and attacked her in her sleep, he would have met with no resistance.

The party had easily gained entry to the mines but despite clearing several levels had run into little of interest so far. Some contaminated ore, a few kobolds and a ring on a dead miner which Montaron casually pocketed much to Khalid's distaste.

Arrow always slept solidly when she had the dreams. Ofttimes she had woken to find Imoen shaking and yelling at her to try to snap her out of them. Since she had left Candlekeep she had been spared the embarrassment of waking up screaming in front of her new companions. Judging by what she was hearing now, that might be about to change.

"Get ready, voracious viewers, for a veritable vortex of violence!"

Arrow felt herself floating spirit-like above a disturbing scene from someone else's life. She had been having these sorts of nightmares for as long as she could remember but the older she got the more frequent they became. The alliterating announcer told her that this dream would be much like the others. All spilled guts and shattered bones.

She was looking down on a small blood-stained arena. On one side stood a pack of orcs accompanied by what looked like a half-ogre. On the other a boy, not much older than she was. He wore tattered red robes and had long black hair. It was unwashed and clinging to his face which was sweating profusely. Two lightly armoured guards accompanied him. They were eyeing the orcs with eager anticipation, but the boy looked petrified.

"Do not be fooled," the announcer spoke from under a canopy. "This timid, trepidatious titbit is a tremendous threat! Orcs and ogres beware! This waxy, worried, barely weaned weakling will want to work a world of wreckage! I give you… Eric!"

_Eric eh?_ Arrow thought. _You're new._

These violent nightmares tended to feature recurring characters. When she was young and the nightmares infrequent they had always involved children. More recently they had grown into adventurers. One particularly nasty series of dreams had started with a little girl being savaged by a werewolf. In every dream since then the girl had been the werewolf herself, attacking other creatures. Someone always died or was badly hurt in these dreams, but an odd quirk of her subconscious imagination was that once the person she was dreaming about died, they dissolved into glittering dust and she never saw them again. It had been a very long time since her mind had invented an entirely new person like Eric. It must be the stress of Gorion's death.

As the announcer paused for dramatic effect, an audible wave of titters washed through the audience.

"Wait for it," snarled the announcer. "Eric, son of BHAAL!"

The laughter did not completely stop, but Arrow could see the audience peering at the frightened youth with reserved curiosity. Near the entrance to the stands was a chalk board listing the betting odds on today's fights. Whoever was running it was offering twenty-four to one against the young wizard. In the unlikely event that he defeated the half-ogre, he would make some punters very happy indeed.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Have at it!"

It was a short and pitiful contest. Eric paralysed one orc so that the left-hand guard was able to land two good blows before the half-ogre caved in his skull with a club. The second guard, (realising that this so-called demigod was not proving to be the invincible ally he had hoped for,) suffered from a morale failure. He backed up into the locked gate he had entered through, cowering behind his shield swinging his sword wildly as the orcs closed in. Eric took one look at the first guard's mangled brains and vomited down his robes.

Arrow watched dispassionately. She knew from long experience that she was powerless to help in these dreams. She could not be heard or seen or touched. Besides, it wasn't as if there was really anyone there to save. Horrible though these dreams were, they were still only dreams.

"Five hundred gold coins that boy cost me," the announcer was fuming. "If you are listening to this Saemon, I will be expecting a full refund… assuming you don't want to find yourself replacing your useless slave in the pits."

The half-ogre grunted with disgust and strode over to put an end to the pathetic business. Eric screwed up his eyes. It raised its club.

"No! No please!" begged Eric, crouching down into a shivering ball as the blow fell. Arrow closed her own eyes.

Which is why she felt, rather than saw, an explosion of blood and fire soak through her body like wind passing through a ghost. Fortunately, she was completely insubstantial and suffered no pain or damage.

The half-ogre was not so fortunate. Nor were the orcs. Neither, judging by the mismatched assortment of limbs and viscera, were most of the audience in the cheaper front row seats. At first there was stunned silence. Eric raised his head slowly, looking around. He was probably wondering why he wasn't dead yet. Arrow gagged on the terrible smell of burning offal and buried her nose into her sleeve.

The crowd began to buzz. He got unsteadily to his feet, looking around at the sea of blood and guts in which he stood. He seemed dazed. The hum grew louder and louder as he straightened his vomit stained robes and swept his long black hair out of his eyes.

Arrow expected the hum to mutate into a roar of rage, yet despite the deaths of so many of their own, the audience were anything but angry. They were cheering, clapping, howling with approval. The announcer stepped out from under the canopy, revealing himself to be a slender drow mage with a mean pointed face. He was beaming at Eric like a favourite son. Arrow was surprised by how pleased he seemed to be to see his own fighting pit blown to bits, along with a fair portion of his patrons.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" declared the delighted drow. "I give you ERIC! _MY_ BHAALSPAWN!"

Arrow woke with a start.

"Morning," said Imoen cheerfully. "Well… probably."

It was impossible to tell this far underground. The only light down here came from the eerie flickering of their torches. The air was heavy, like there was not quite enough to go around such a large party.

"Up!" commanded Jaheira.

Arrow got up reluctantly and started packing away her bedroll. The party skipped breakfast because they didn't bring any. The original plan had been to borrow from the larders supplying the miners but those had already been picked clean by the kobolds. It had been over a day since their last meal and although none of them said it, if they did not find food soon they would have no choice but to take what gold they'd been able to scrounge and turn back.

"We are about to descend to the lowest level of the mine," Jaheira declared. "Is everybody well rested? Well too late now if you're not! Let's move!"

The group scrambled down the shaft to the deepest level, dropping one by one into the darkness. Cold, dank air filled Arrow's lungs as she climbed. The party found themselves standing at the edge of a polluted underground lake.

"Ugh!" grunted Khalid. A fire arrow struck his breast plate from across the lake, bounced off harmlessly and clattered to the ground. It was still burning. Quick as a flash, Arrow snatched it up and sent it whistling back in the direction it came from. There was a squeak and a splash as a kobold archer's body toppled into the water.

At once the air above them was blazing. Fire arrows were raining down on them like shooting stars.

"Eeek!" squeaked Xzar, attempting to haul himself back up the rickety ladder they had just climbed down. The rungs were slimy and his hands slipped off them. "Mustn't play with fire!"

A narrow earthen walkway separated them from the kobolds. Rasaad had already crossed it by the time Arrow returned her second shot. The others were not far behind.

The monk threw himself at the enemy in a rain of punches and kicks. Unwisely the kobolds continued to focus their attacks on Arrow since she had already killed two of them, but their aim was not so sharp, and they were struggling to hit her from this distance. She was careful not to hold onto the fire arrows for too long as they gave away her position in the dark. Pick one up, fire, step out of the way, repeat. Meanwhile Khalid's sword was mowing them down as they wasted their shots on her.

Minutes later it was all over. Montaron backstabbed the last kobold with a dagger looted from the body of one of its friends. Jaheira started roughly inspecting Khalid and Rasaad, muttering little healing spells to cure their scratches. On the other side of the lake a delighted Arrow was scooping up the flaming missiles into her quiver.

"Hurry up!" called Jaheira.

"You always wanted magic ammo!" grinned Imoen, waving handfuls of the ones she had collected on her side of the lake from looting the bodies.

"Yes, but how did such feeble kobolds get a hold of them?" mused Rasaad. "Enchanted arrows like these cost a small fortune. Somebody wealthy must be arming them."

"Well that someone is arming us now!" said Imoen. "I expect we'll find our answers in there." Jaheira was pointing impatiently at a door set in a great earthen mound on the island in the middle of the lake. Arrow seized Xzar by the green hem of his robes and half-dragged him back to the others.

"Fat lot of use ye were," Montaron spat at his companion. "If our patrons didn't force me to keep ye around…"

"Who are these patrons?" asked Khalid sharply. "You still haven't told us yet."

"Just like ye haven't told us yours," retorted Montaron, squaring up to him. He barely came up to the half-elf's waist, yet still managed to come across as the more intimidating of the two.

"Shush both of you!" said Jaheira sharply. "We can discuss this later."

"No need," replied Montaron with a shrewd look at the couple. "I think I already have the measure of ye. Pair of do-gooders, on the road for no apparent reason taking in strays, sticking their oversized noses into things that don't concern them? I reckon the two of ye are Harpers!"

A muscle spasmed in Jaheira's jaw, but aside from that her reaction gave away nothing. Khalid on the other hand…

"D- d- d- d- don't know wh- what you m-mean!" he stammered shrilly. "Wh- what's a H- harper?"

Montaron sneered but said nothing else. He opened the door silently and crept forward, eyes wide for traps. After a minute or two, he crept back and whispered.

"There's no traps but there's something in the first side-cave. Possibly a half-orc, too dark to tell."

"I'll deal with it," whispered Arrow and drawing one of her newly acquired arrows she slipped through the door.

"Arrow, wait!" hissed Jaheira, but it was too late. "I'm surrounded by morons. 'W- w- what is a Harper?' Seriously Khalid?" she berated her husband in a muted voice.

"S-sorry my dear."

The archer crossed the dripping cave as stealthily as if she were hunting a deer, saw the silhouette of her target in the side-cave just as Montaron described and released her missile.

In the glare of the arrow's firelight it was immediately obvious that she had made a mistake, but it was also too late to do anything about it. Fortunately, she fumbled her shot. The arrow soared past the startled face of an elf wizard, shattering a mirror close to his head. A shower of glass and reflected flame fell around him like glitter.

"Sorry!" squeaked Arrow. The man she had shot at was clearly a prisoner. His feet were bound roughly together, and his hands tied behind his back.

"Alas!" the wizard moaned, hopping as far away from her as possible. "The end has come!"

"I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!" blustered Arrow. "I thought you were an orc!"

"Do I look like an orc to you?" he glared at her balefully. He had sad eyes and shoulder length brown hair. From his hollow cheeks and the cuts and bruises covering his face it looked as though he had not been well treated. She wanted to help him but before she could so much as cut his bonds they were interrupted.

"WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS IS GOING ON OUT THERE?!" came a gruff yell from the south cavern.

The wizard shrugged. " _That_ is an orc."


	3. Mulahey

A small kobold horde emerged from the Northern cavern. The elf, who was bound, unarmed and unable to help, flattened himself against the wall. Sadly, a stray kobold arrow struck him through the heart and he crumpled. Hopelessly outnumbered, Arowan loosed what she feared would be her last arrow, when the rest of the party burst through the door. Both warriors threw themselves at the kobolds, hacking and slashing at them. The druid transformed herself into a great bear and swept aside three at once with her paw.

Then the door to the Southern chamber slammed open and a half-orc came crashing through it. Arrow had never seen half-orcs before except in her nightmares. This one with his brutish strength and tusk-like teeth looked almost exactly as her subconscious had conjured them, the main difference being that her imagination had always given them clothes. He was wielding a heavy oak staff but was completely naked and soaking wet. They must have interrupted his bath. 

"My eyes!" squealed Xzar, pointing at the wrinkled, dangling collection of objects between the half-orc's legs. At least they were flopping and the party had not caught him midway through any activity more private than washing. This was scarcely less revolting though. Despite bathing, the orc was clearly not overly concerned with personal grooming and a large proportion of his genitalia were obscured by long, matted black curls. When Xzar squinted at them he could swear he detected little creatures moving. "My good fellow, that is a fascinating ecosystem that you are cultivating down there. It is almost a shame that we will have to eradicate it, and you."

The dripping orc lunged for Xzar, the closest and weakest of the group. The mad mage squealed and stumbled backward out of the orc's slippery wet hands but lost his spell in the process. With a frightened curse he tripped over the hem of his green robes and toppled backward. Arrow sent two fire arrows hurtling at the orc in quick succession but they embedded, still smouldering, into his thick hide. If she had hurt him at all he didn't show it but blundered on toward Xzar undeterred.

Then he stopped with a howl. Montaron had snuck up behind and backstabbed him. Without any armour to hinder it, the dagger slid straight through his back and out the other side. Ever the opportunist, Xzar stopped cowering, sprang to his feet and joined Montaron in a savage frenzy of stabbing. The sound of their blades striking into unprotected flesh over and over could be heard even over the ongoing battle. The duo carried on long beyond the point where the orc had died and the last of the kobolds had been mopped up.

"Enough! I said enough!" snapped Jaheira. "That will do, Montaron!"

The evil pair gradually slowed their stabbing to a halt and stood up panting. They and the floor were saturated with blood. The orc's corpse was so mangled as to be unrecognizable, both eyes were now missing. Arrow was reasonably confident that a temple would be able to revive the elf, but this creature was beyond help. She could not stop herself from wondering whether he had a mother who would cry for him or a wife and baby orcs to support.

Arrow felt cold and clammy. She stared mutely at the naked body of the orc while the others searched the room behind her. It was a small room with a silver tub of icy bath water in the centre, a large bed with a patchwork quilt and a mismatched array of drawers and cupboards. They found a pack, including a robe, wands and a moonblade which presumably belonged to the dead elf.

"Why was the orc bathing in freezing cold water?" puzzled Imoen, dipping her little finger into the tub. There was some grime around the rim but no soap stains nor discernible scent. It was an odd way to bathe.

"Bah, ye should be grateful he washed at all. First half-orc I ever met who did," Montaron sneered.

"Ah, here!" cried Jaheira. In a locked cabinet they found a cache. "Receipts… magic scrolls… tax return… yes."

She brandished a scroll at them with a broken wax seal.

" _My servant Mulahey,"_ she read aloud. _"Your progress in disrupting the flow of iron ore does not go as well as it should. How stupid can you be to allow your kobolds to murder in the mines?! With your presence revealed you should be wary of enemies sent to stop your operation. If you continue to show that you can't do the job you will be replaced…"_

The letter rambled on in this vein, refusing one request for more kobolds but granting another for more ore-poison.

"… _in Beregost. His name is Tranzig and he'll be staying in Feldepost's Inn. Tazok."_ Jaheira finished. "Well, back to Beregost it is then!" Arrow groaned.

"You do not like Beregost?" enquired Rasaad. The rest of the party laughed dryly. Beregost had been Arrow's first experience of a town and she harboured a not-so-secret hope that it might also be her last. They had gotten off to a bad start. First a stranger had come strolling out to meet her and (completely unprovoked) started making awkward small talk and offering to show her around. Then there was the town itself, reeking of sewage and packed with people who kept staring at the adventurers, and making her feel even more self-conscious than usual.

After a long morning of mounting anxiety, during which she became increasingly stressed and ratty with the various shopkeepers, she decided to book them into an inn. Her main motivation for this expenditure had been to retreat to her room, hide for the rest of the day and sneak out at nightfall without having to chatter with anybody else. Ilmater, however, had decided to test her. A drunken bereaved father who blamed the irresponsible example set by adventurers for the untimely death of his child, chose to target her as an outlet for his grief. It took every ounce of her self-restraint to console the man and talk him out of a fight, instead of unleashing her own stress in his unfortunate face. Finally, having escaped to the blessed solitude of her room, she'd found herself unable to sleep because of the constant calling of courtesans and clattering of night carts. Beregost. She shuddered.

Arrow was shocked out of her reminiscing by a hand groping her thigh, causing her to jump out of her skin. One of the kobolds must have been missed and now it was attacking her. The idea of having to endure another round with Beregost had already set her pulse racing unpleasantly. Without thinking, she twisted around and loosed an arrow, striking her assailant squarely between the eyes. Only it was not a kobold. It was Montaron.

He seemed to fall backward in slow motion, eyes wide with shock. His stubby fingers were still laced around the purse he had been trying to lift from her pocket. Arrow dropped her bow and her hands flew to her mouth, horrified, as he hit the floor with a thump and a splash of orc blood.

For a moment nobody spoke. They stared at the dead halfling with a combination of shock and morbid fascination.

"W-w-what is it with you and r-randomly shooting people?" cried Khalid finally, in sheer disbelief. The monk knelt beside Montaron and lifted his wrist to take a pulse.

"I can't believe it Arrow, you did it again!" gasped Imoen. "Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

"He is dead," Rasaad confirmed unnecessarily.

"You killed Monty?" shrieked Xzar, shedding a few crocodile tears. Then he shrugged and said in an indifferent tone of voice, "Eh. Understandable."

There was surprisingly little blood for such a lethal shot since the arrow was plugging the wound. A thin trickle leeched down the thief's face, mixing with the blood of the orc on the floor. There was nowhere to stand without getting some of the congealing sticky mess on one's boots.

"Ok, ok, nobody panic!" stammered Arrow, panicking. "We'll just take him back to the temple and get him revived. No problem!"

"No problem?" asked Imoen shrilly, shaking her friend by the shoulders. "No problem? You know what Arrow? I see a problem! In fact I can see several problems! The main one being that when Montaron wakes up he is going to kill you!"

"Not if I get him revived surely?" spluttered Arrow desperately. "I mean he'll be hacked off obviously but… but it was an accident. He can't hold that against me, can he?" For once even Jaheira was lost for words. Imoen stepped in to fill the silence.

"'Can't hold it against you that you _murdered him_?" she yelled.

The archer let out a distressed sort of whimper. What if the temple couldn't revive him and she really had murdered him? She had never killed someone who wasn't trying to kill her first. She sat down on the patchwork quilt trembling.

"I'm sorry! Look let's just get him to the temple and lecture me later ok?" mumbled Arrow. "I'll apologise, properly, and we can all move on. I mean we're adventuring together, right? He wouldn't really attack one of his own allies over a simple mistake! What's a little head wound between friends?"

"Ooooh," cooed Xzar. "This is going to sting… You are not friends. See I know that you think that you and Monty have this banter thing going on, but the truth is he isn't joking. He really does hate you."

"No, no… w-we had picked up on that," Khalid assured him.

"What I mean is, he finds you really, really, really, really ANNOYING" the mage went on, the stress of the situation rendering him more incoherent by the second. Khalid and Jaheira exchanged a frightened look. From their very first meeting, Xzar's behaviour had been undeniably strange, but it was starting to look as if he was completely insane. "Especially the ranger because she makes stupid jokes and is terrible at her job. I was expecting to wake up to find he'd sliced her throat in her sleep and that was BEFORE SHE SHOT OUT HIS BRAINS FOR NO REASON!"

Xzar collapsed into a giggling heap, gnawing at his fingers hysterically.

Arrow wound the quilt round and round in her hands. She felt as if her skin was crawling. "But he was trying to pickpocket me!" she wailed.

"I try to pickpocket you every day, it's good practise!" said Imoen shakily. "That could just as easily have been me!" Arrow hung her head.

The druid sighed despairingly and once again stepped in to sort out Arrow's mess. While still in bear form her fur had soaked up the orc's blood like a paintbrush and more than anything she wanted to get outside and wash.

"Look, we got what we came for," said Jaheira brandishing the letters. "Xzar, you take your share of the gold we collected from the mine. You can use it to revive your… well let's say 'friend' for want of a better word. I have seen a great many of these types of wounds and I assure you that if he is brought to a temple in reasonable time they will be able to bring him back. We should be gone long before you drag his sorry carcass as far as the town. With any luck we'll never set eyes on each other again."

"Fine!" hissed Xzar. "Give me the letters and I'll be on my way."

"I will keep the letters," said Jaheira firmly.

"I need those!" said Xzar, his voice rising manically again. He lunged at her, slipped in the blood and ended up on his hands and knees. The redness of fresh blood against his evergreen robes gave him a sinister festive appearance.

"I can arrange to have copies made and left at the temple," she compromised through gritted teeth.

"OUR EMPLOYERS WON'T LIIIIIKE THAT!" shrieked Xzar. He crawled up Jaheira's body. She held the papers out of his reach. His clawed hand stretched to her face as if reaching for her eyes.

There was a soft metallic whistle of a blade being drawn. Xzar felt Khalid's broadsword pressing against his throat. Not quite hard enough to draw blood, but still very uncomfortable.

"Mummy!" he shrieked. The mage released Jaheira and scuttled backward to the bed. When he reached it, he pulled the patchwork duvet out of Arrow's hands, and covered himself completely.

"I think it's time we learnt who these employers of yours are!" said Khalid, his eyes blazing.

Xzar whimpered under the colourful blanket and started rocking back and forth.

"S- search his body," Khalid ordered, jerking a thumb at Montaron. He kept the point of his broadsword trained on the wizard. Arrow and Imoen gawped for a second before obeying. It was the first time they had seen him so much as blow his nose without asking Jaheira's permission first.

The girls patted down Montaron's pockets. They found the dead miner's ring and, unsurprisingly, several of their own belongings tucked into his pockets. There was a chain hanging from his neck that he had always kept hidden under his clothes. Arrow yanked it and out came a pendant of a jawless skull set against a purple sunburst. Rasaad gave Montaron a disgusted look.

"Cyric," he spat.

"That doesn't h- help," Khalid said. "We already know he's a n- nasty piece of work. I need something that tells me who he was w- w- w-"

"Working for," Jaheira finished for him. "Was he carrying any letters?"

"Nope," said Imoen.

"You have searched everywhere?" she demanded.

"Everywhere I'm prepared to search," said Arrow, standing up, scratching her wrist. "There are one or two unexplored crevices but if you want those probed for items you'll have to do it yourself."

Jaheira glared at her. There was so much blood oozing around that the air itself was starting to take on a bitter, coppery taste. It was not improving her temper.

"This is no time for you to be making jokes child," she said sternly, "You just fatally wounded one of your own party."

"Hold!" said Khalid.

They fell silent. A strange wet pulsing sound was coming from under the blanket. Whatever Xzar had cast or summoned under there had a squelching, moist quality. Those of the party who had previous experience with animated slimes and oozes started backing away.

Khalid flicked the patchwork blanket away with the tip of his sword. As it transpired, the weird squelching noise was not a hostile spell but Xzar sucking his thumb.

"Mummy, I feel so… itchy," he whined.

"Wh- who are you?" demanded Khalid. "Who are you working for? Answer the question or we'll do a whole-body search!" Xzar removed the digit from his mouth and glared malevolently.

He dipped his bony forefinger into the blood and drew a crude circle on the wall, bisected by a vertical line. At the base of the line he sketched a little fanged mouth and what might have been wings. Then he stepped back, smirking at them with a significant expression. Clearly he expected some sort of reaction but instead there was a long pause as the party tried to work out what it was supposed to be.

"Nope, no idea," said Imoen finally.

"Is it an e- eye?" guessed Khalid.

"The line and sticks could be the Iron Throne sword? Stabbing the sun? No that can't be right," frowned Jaheira.

"Is it like one of those carnival games where you drop a claw and it picks up a cuddly toy?" hazarded Arowan.

"At the monastery we were taught the symbols of all the major religions," said Rasaad. "This does not look familiar, but it might be a new cult?"

"IT IS OBVIOUSLY A WYVERN!" screeched Xzar, stamping his feet in frustration. "WE ARE WITH THE ZHENTARIM!"

That did have an effect, though not on everyone in the party. Imoen gasped and tried to hide in shadows. Rasaad and Arrow also felt rather apprehensive at this news. The Harpers on the other hand seemed neither overly surprised nor particularly bothered. Perhaps they had crossed the Zhentarim already, or maybe they just didn't feel these two representatives were important enough to worry about.

"I thought the Zhentarim's symbol was a w- winged viper?" Khalid said to Jaheira.

"It is hard to tell what it's supposed to be. Sometimes they draw it swallowing a punctuation mark for some reason," she shrugged indifferently.

"I get this from Harpers?" protested Xzar. "Your symbol is a moon biting a musical instrument! But perhaps you didn't hear me? We were sent by the Zhentarim and you just… you just… Monty? Monty! Don't fret Monty dearest, mummy is here!" He descended into gibberish, cradling Montaron's pierced head like a new-born baby.

"We've crossed the Zhentarim? Oh! This is bad!" moaned Imoen. Xzar looked up and grinned at her spitefully. "We should give him the letters, give him whatever he wants and run far, far away!"

"Oh Monty, Monty... get a grip… pull yourself together Xzar, or mummy will bring the wooden spoon," the mad mage was muttering to himself. Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath and seemed to return to a state of reasonable clarity. "ENOUGH OF YOUR JABBERING! I confess I was growing quite fond of our group. Some of you anyway. Soooo saaaad. If my employers don't send assassins after you, I'm afraid dear Monty will do you in himself."

Imoen was glaring daggers at Arrow. Jaheira and Khalid were glaring at Xzar. Rasaad was still glaring at Montaron's symbol of Cyric and Arrow was just glaring out of general embarrassment. There was a lot of glaring going on.

"If I might propose a compromise," the Zhent went on in an oily voice. "I am the contact for the Zhentarim, not Monty. There isn't necessarily any reason to involve my superiors in this unfortunate incident. Leave me the letters and oh, let's say half of your gold. I'll drag Monty's stinking carcass back to Nashkel and revive him in… shall we agree three days to a week depending on how quickly he decays? That should give you plenty of time to clear off before he wakes up and decides to slit all of your throats."

"That seems reasonable," agreed Arrow.

"That is… one option," said Jaheira, staring coldly at Xzar.

"What are you suggesting Jaheira?" Arrow asked slowly.

"He is a Zhent," said the druid. "If he reports what happened here back to his superiors, he could add to our problems significantly."

"I don't think I like where this is going," the ranger cut in sharply.

"Whereas if he happened to be slain by a kobold or slip and fall down a mine shaft," Jaheira mused, fixing the mad wizard with an icy glare, "It could be several weeks before anyone found them. Far too late to revive them, even in the unlikely event that anybody thought it worth bothering."

"I _really_ don't like where this is going," said Arrow.

"Me neither!" exclaimed Xzar. "Forget the gold! What if you let me take Mulahey's papers so I have something to show to my masters, and we can just leave Monty here to rot?"

In the end, it came down to a vote. Against Jaheira's wishes Arrow, Imoen and Rasaad voted to give Xzar the letter. The ranger even slipped Xzar enough gold to revive his companion and rent a room at the inn to recover. The necromancer hissed at her unpleasantly as he left, dragging Monty by his feet.

"Well that should take him a couple of days," said Jaheira. "But just in case we should slip some extra gold onto the temple plate to make sure we get a good head start before the halfling wakes up."

The rest of the party carried the dead elf with them to Nashkel using the half-orc's patchwork blanket as a stretcher. Rasaad took the head and Khalid the legs. The bright and cheerful blanket was an oddly jovial thing to carry a corpse in. The elf's stiff body swung from side to side like he was relaxing in a hammock.

"There," said Jaheira smugly. Her face was a picture of satisfied superiority. "Did I not say I would make a better negotiator than Arrow? Half of our gold indeed! Ha!"

"You would have left him penniless after I shot his friend!" said Arrow angrily. "He would have had nothing to pay the temple to revive Montaron!"

"You say that like it is a bad thing! Shooting Montaron would have been the smartest action you'd taken since departing from Candlekeep if you had done it on purpose!" snapped Jaheira. "He is a Zhent, and you are a naive child. We should have finished Xzar too, not paid to have Montaron revived!"

"That wasn't a bluff?" cried Arrow, horrified. "You'd make murderers out of us?"

"They won't forget this, you silly girl!" yelled Jaheira. "Your foolish generosity will come back to bite us, you mark my words."

"I h-hope you don't come to regret this Arrow," said Khalid. "Giving him gold to revive the thief wasn't very s-sensible."

"You know what would be really 'sensible?'" cried Imoen in exasperation. "If you could take half a second to look before you shoot!" Rasaad rubbed his left shoulder and nodded at this in emphatic agreement.

There was another exit at the other end of the mines. The party trudged out in angry silence. The plan was to make it back to Nashkel before sundown, partly to make certain that Xzar did not claim the reward money before they did, but mostly because nobody relished the prospect of another evening without dinner.

Fortunately, they were not waylaid on the road and only made a brief stop to wash the blood from their hands and boots. There were a lot of fish in the river. Occasionally one jumped playfully over Khalid as he scrubbed, making the half-elf flinch. Arrow had heard of spearmen using their weapons to pierce fish like harpoons and wondered if the same principle could be used to shoot them.

She set up by the water's edge but the instant she got close, all of the fish seemed to instinctively disappear. She persisted though, having nothing better to do and little present interest in talking to her companions. Rasaad meandered over to her, hands clasped behind his back.

"I suppose you're about to tell me I'm a silly little girl as well?" she snapped.

"I am not," he replied calmly.

He drew level with her to the edge of the stream. Kneeling he scooped a pebble from the water. He turned it over, inspecting it, letting the water drip down his hands. Arrow kept her bow trained on the water and said nothing.

"Your friend Imoen does make a fair point about looking before you shoot," he conceded, "But I did not come to talk about that."

"Tread lightly monk, I'm in no mood for more lectures."

She pulled the string back tight, scanning the water with narrowed eyes for a glint of silver scales. The water had been teeming with the wretched things until she got her bow out. Now it was empty save for sunlight sparkling on the stones.

"I did not come to lecture you, or to talk about the Zhents at all. Although for what little value my opinion carries in the group, I admire what you did in the mines. It is a worthy thing to shine the light of mercy on those lost in shadow."

He stood up, tilting the pebble this way and that, watching the light reflecting from it.

"You over-estimate me. The only light I feel like shining on Xzar and Montaron is a rain of fireballs," she said grumpily.

"The fact that you did not feel like showing them kindness makes what you did even more noble," he smiled.

"Oh. Ok. Thank you." Arrow lowered her bow, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. It struck her that she had been quite unkind to him. "I don't think your opinion is of little value. At least not to me. Though I suppose that in a group led by Jaheira all opinions carry little value except one."

Rasaad's lip twitched as he tried not to smile.

"I guess I'm saying that in so far as any of the rest of us are permitted to have opinions, yours is valued," she told him grinning.

"Thank you," he said.

They stood together in companionable silence until the group had scrubbed up enough to enter the village without petrifying the locals. Then Rasaad and Khalid scooped up the dead elf and brought him to the temple for revival. Every so often, by unspoken mutual agreement, they placed the body on the ground and scratched their arms. Arrow found this a little odd, but both men were Calishite, so perhaps it was their culture's ritual for honouring the dead. She thought to ask them about it later, but by the time they reached the tavern it had completely slipped her mind.


	4. Road to Beregost

The innkeeper seated them next to a jolly little fire, crackling with bits of bark and pinecones. Two baskets of crunchy bread rolls were placed on the table, followed by slabs of golden butter and steaming bowls of soup.

The elf actually moaned. Seven eager hands shot out at the bread; the seventh hand was Imoen reaching into both baskets at once. They had not eaten properly in nearly a week, and much longer in the case of the newest addition to their party. The rescued and revived elf, Xan, turned out to be a mage and a convenient replacement for Xzar. Despite having already died once in their company he had agreed to join them, tempted by the offer of food. Dignity and table manners fell by the wayside. In minutes the bowls were licked clean and the table scattered with crumbs.

"Goodness me, we are peckish," chirped the barman. "Your main course will be out shortly. Tonight's special is roast mutton served with our signature rosemary potatoes and mixed root vegetables."

"That sounds lovely," sighed Jaheira, scratching the back of her hand.

"Might I recommend that madam try the bespoke house red, or one of our select craft ales?" he suggested pleasantly. "Brewed by our artisans using only the finest Amnian hops."

"What in the name of the four seasons is a _'bespoke house red?'_ " Jaheira demanded.

The barkeep scratched his beard awkwardly. Arrow and Imoen smiled a little. Their leader's attitude was an entertaining thing, when directed at someone else.

"You ain't supposed to ask me that," he said. "Everyone knows it don't mean nothing, it's just code for 'posh'. Look, that nasty business with the Nashkel mines has cost me most of my regulars but I don't like having them militia in here. They spend too little and break too much. So we're trying to go upmarket a bit. Attract a few of the local gentry, merchants looking to break up their journey and so forth."

"By placing meaningless words in front of your normal menu?" asked the druid in a disapproving voice.

"Well… yes," confessed the unfortunate innkeeper.

"Just get me a beer. Not a _bespoke hand-crafted beer_. Just a beer," she commanded haughtily. "Since there is no difference."

"Oh, I think a difference could be arranged," the man muttered as he passed the far end of the table, just too quietly for Jaheira to hear him.

"He means he is going to spit in it," Arrow whispered to Rasaad, who had opened his mouth to ask.

While they waited for the man to return with their food, a woman in a scarlet travelling cloak approached the party. She did not look friendly.

"Are you Gorion's ward?" she asked in a silvery voice.

"Nope," lied Arrow, hoping against hope that if this stranger picked a fight it would not result in them being thrown out of the inn and losing their dinner. The stranger lowered her hood and peered at her. She had a pale, pointed face and bright blue eyes.

The party went quiet, all hands reaching discretely for their weapons. The woman continued to look at her, frowning deeply as though trying to figure something out. Then she reached into her pocket and took out a sheet of paper. She unfolded it slowly, looked at it, and then back at Arrow. Then she shook her head as though trying to dislodge something. It was all very strange.

"I do apologise," she said silkily. "I appear to have made a mistake."

Without another word, she turned and left the inn, letting in another burst of cold air from outside and prompting a round of grumbling from the other tables. Minutes later they heard the clatter of hooves galloping away into the night.

"O… k…" said Arrow.

"You don't think she was with the Zhentarim do you?" fretted Imoen, scratching her forehead nervously.

"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Jaheira. "Even if Xzar were capable of sending instant telepathic messages to Zhent Keep they couldn't possibly have dispatched someone this quickly. She must be another assassin like the one who attacked you at the Friendly Arm Inn, only even more incompetent."

At that moment the waiter distracted them by making a reappearance with their plates and the party turned their attention to more pressing issues.

"Could we get two, sorry, three more ales and some mashed potato please?" asked Imoen, placing a fistful of coins on the table. The barman nodded and beamed at her indulgently.

"I- I would very much appreciate a piece of c- cold pie. Pork or r- rabbit if you have any," said Khalid.

"Careful," warned Jaheira. "Eating too much after an extended period of involuntary fasting is likely to make you…"

"Please could you bring out some bacon?" chipped in Arrow.

"…sick."

"Oh! Sausages!"

"Another bread basket!"

"Actually c- c- could you make that a l- large piece?"

The man was smiling broadly as he scooped the coins from the table and into an increasingly fat purse. The druid's earlier rudeness was quite forgotten in the face of such a fine evening's profit. He repeated their requests back to them and bustled into the kitchen, where they could just hear him hollering instructions to the cook.

"Can't at least some of this orgy of self-indulgence wait until breakfast?" Jaheira cried in fond exasperation.

For once her nagging fell on completely deaf ears. Their reward for investigating the mines was handsome enough to purchase the best fare the inn had to offer, and her followers were determined to make the most of it.

There was little by way of dinner conversation, just an intense shovelling binge. After the main came dessert, great bowls of sweet rice topped with jam. Even Jaheira ended up eating far beyond the point of being comfortably full. The only person exhibiting a modicum of self-restraint was Rasaad, and he only achieved that by retiring to his room early to meditate.

By the time they were finished, an intense, comfortable fatigue overcame them, and they departed to their rooms in pairs.

"That's better," sighed Imoen happily, pulling her feather duvet up to her chin. She ran her hands over her stomach in a satisfied way. "Check it out. I've got a food baby."

"Mmm," sighed Arrow contentedly from the next bed. "I think I have food triplets."

"I'm not saying I approve of you shooting Montaron or anything, but we made a good trade didn't we? Losing Xzar and Monty and picking up Rasaad and Xan."

"Mmm hmm."

She was drifting off, and then she was drifting. Again.

" _Oh, come on,"_ she groaned, knowing that nobody would hear her. _"Just let me sleep normally. I really can't be bothered with this tonight."_

"His prosperous patrons have prepared him to pulverize his poor opponents. Give it up for Beric the Bilious Bhaalspawn!" cried an overexcited announcer. It sounded like the drow entertainer from her earlier dream was back.

"Eric!" the young wizard hurled back. "It's Eric you bastard!"

" _Bugger off the pair of you!"_ said Arrow, but of course they could not hear her.

"Oh, come now, 'Beric' works so much better with 'Bhaalspawn' don't you think?" wheedled the drow slave master. "No? Fine, have it your way."

Arrow was hovering above the reluctant pit fighter again. He had a larger more elaborate pit this time and faint crackles of energy indicated that a protective magical barrier had been placed around the stands. Perhaps Eric did still look a little green, but he had clearly attracted some generous fans. He was dressed in a new velvet robe with fine gold embroidery. It looked far more expensive than those worn by Xzar or Xan.

He raised his hands to greet the audience and an excited cheer rose up. On his finger was a ring set with grey stones flecked with green, clearly magical in nature. Without the vomit and with his shoulder length black hair washed, he was actually quite handsome, in a scrawny sort of way. His opponents this time were a tribe of gnolls. Their leader, a great slobbering beast with a pierced muzzle, was whispering instructions to a lacky wearing a skull mask. Arrow guessed that he must be some sort of shaman.

"Remember, not too quick! You need to give them a show!" hissed a female voice. The voice's owner was hidden beneath the pit's barred entrance. Arrow glanced at the chalkboard where the odds on each fight were displayed. Eric's chances were certainly deemed a lot better than last time, but it still read three to one in favour of the gnolls.

Whoever his mysterious advisor was, Eric was clearly listening. He cast confusion over the gnolls and while they were fighting each other he began polymorphing the weaker fighters one by one into large fluorescent mushrooms. Furiously their leader, who was not confused, started smacking the mushrooms and pointing at Eric trying to get them to refocus.

As soon as they were struck, the mushrooms released a cloud of glimmering spores. Eric chanted and waved his hands, shaping and directing them. It was not a spell that Arrow had come across before, but he seemed to be making use of his new magic ring. Blue and purple fungal sparkles filled the arena, converging on the enemy shaman in a series of crackles and bangs. In desperation, the gnoll threw up layers of magical skins and barriers. They interacted with the spores to create a colour changing light show. Unwisely the lead gnoll decided to attack the spores directly. His blade slashed through them harmlessly, knocking his ally prone. The unlucky shaman squealed as his concentration broke and the spores got him at last. He fizzled away in a shower of silver glitter. The crowd ooh'd and clapped.

For his grand finale, Eric launched their leader into the air with a shrill _wheeeeeeeee!_ As the gnoll captain shrieked past her face, Arrow caught a glimpse of his final expression of confusion and terror. The gnoll looped the loop several times over the heads of the delighted audience, leaving a dazzling trail of stars. It culminated with him exploding over their heads in a spectacular shower of red, gold and green. In the middle of it all stood the young wizard, soaking in the rapturous love of the crowd.

The next morning Arrow overslept. She stumbled downstairs to find that she had already missed breakfast, but since she was still overfull from the night before this didn't bother her much. The only other person still upstairs was Rasaad, meditating presumably. She meandered over to the others who were taking advantage of his absence to gossip about him.

"For a monk he seems to lack focus," said Xan dismissively.

"Did you just say Rasaad lacks focus?" queried Imoen.

"He certainly appears to," said Xan, vigorously scratching the back of his leg. "He was meditating in our room last night and he couldn't seem to sit still. It was like he had ants crawling up his back."

"Well go and get him," instructed Jaheira. "He can catch up with his meditation on his own time. Beregost awaits and I want to get a good head start on those blasted Zhents."

"Alright, one moment," said Xan. He scratched his arm harder, peered carefully at it and a flicker of alarm passed over his gloomy features. "I er… I'll get him in a moment, I just need to use the privy first. Excuse me." The wizard got up hastily and half ran for the bathroom outside the inn, muttering a spell as he went.

"What do you think-" Imoen giggled.

"Mind your own business," snapped Jaheira. "Didn't you have to make any urgent runs to the privy after eating so much last night? Khalid was up at least five times I swear!"

They set out North, with Rasaad scouting ahead. The elf and half-elves fell into conversation about some city or other that Arrow had no interest in so she found herself lagging behind with Imoen.

"What is a Harper?" Arrow asked.

"Seriously?" laughed Imoen. "Did you spend so much time rolling in dirt outside the castle that you never learnt to read?"

A large dinner followed by comfortable sleep and an equally large breakfast had put the pink haired girl into a sunny mood. The weather was helping. It was slightly overcast so that they were dry but not too hot while lugging their heavy packs around. She had kicked off her shoes and was walking barefoot in the long grass by the side of the road.

"I've heard of them obviously," Arrow rolled her eyes. "I know they're some big secret cult that wants to turn everyone's alignment to neutral. I was hoping that you might have more detail since you spent so much time with Gorion and his books."

"Gorion spent way more time with you!"

Arrow's nose wrinkled in puzzlement at this bizarre statement. Gorion had been a bookish, distant sort of figure in her life. She was very grateful to him for taking her in, (or at least the monks had impressed upon her that she ought to be), but as long as she didn't get into too much trouble they had largely kept out of each other's way.

"Gorion and I went for days at a time without even seeing each other," she said, fiddling with a brown curl of hair absent mindedly. "Don't get me wrong, he was a good guardian. I liked him and everything but it's not like we had a whole lot in common. I'd hardly say we were best mates."

"He was your father!" exclaimed Imoen.

"Mmm… not sure I'd go that far," replied Arrow, cocking her head to one side.

"Huh," said Imoen, frowning slightly. "My mistake. I guess I just assumed y'all thought of him as your Dad."

"This is a bit of an odd conversation," Arrow laughed nervously. She was unsure whether Imoen was trying to make a joke and she just wasn't getting it. If she was it was in pretty poor taste seeing as how the old man had just died. "You lived with us, so surely you could see we weren't that close. Why would you assume that we were like father and daughter?"

Imoen didn't answer right away. Instead she did something rather odd. She opened and shut her mouth a few times as if about to speak but thinking the better of it. She seemed to be having trouble deciding what to say.

"Because he cared about you, in a way he didn't care about me," Imoen said very carefully.

The air took a sudden chilly turn and there was a sound of very distant thunder. Arrow ignored it and peered at her friend with some concern. Imoen was speaking really cautiously, as if evaluating each word before letting it out. Arrow's frown line deepened. It was not at all like Imoen to think before she spoke.

"I don't think that's true," said Arrow being both comforting and truthful. "I'm sure he cared about you at least as much as me." Imoen let out a bitter little laugh.

"No, he didn't. He definitely didn't," she said emphatically. "Gorion was-agh! Ack!"

Suddenly Imoen broke off choking. The pink haired girl gasped and pulled at her neck as if something were wound too tight around it. She dropped her pack, which bounced on the long grass. There was a second roll of thunder, closer this time.

"Imoen, what's wrong?" cried Arrow in alarm.

"Stop it… stop it… no fair!" she wheezed. "I didn't say anything!"

She took a great gulp of air as if her throat had suddenly been released. Without looking Arrow in the eye, she seized her fallen pack and stood up panting.

"Are you ok?" Arrow gasped, holding her friend up by the shoulders. "Should I get Jaheira? I'll get Jaheira! JAHEIRA!" she called up the path.

"I'm fine! Fine!" trilled Imoen in a falsely cheerful voice. "What were we talking about? Harpers?"

"Immy…"

"Harpers are…" Imoen began with determined breeziness.

Despite intense pestering on Arrow's part, nothing would persuade Imoen to return to the subject of Candlekeep or Gorion. By the time they made camp that night the storm had reached them. There was no hope of lighting a campfire so they huddled in their tents, nibbling on bread and dried meat purchased from the inn.

Arrow sat alone in hers listening to rain pounding the side of the canopy. Imoen had slipped into Xan's tent, notionally to get to know their new friend better, although Arrow suspected that the girl was avoiding her. It was too early to sleep but she did not want to pester Imoen further, and the flap of the Harpers' tent was firmly closed. This might have been simply to keep the rain out but she shuddered to think what she might be interrupting if she went over there.

She was pleased, therefore, when Rasaad returned from his scouting and asked to join her. He climbed in, utterly drenched, and she handed him some food before drying him off as best she could with the closest thing to a towel available, Mulahey's patchwork blanket. He wrapped it around his shoulders, though after a few minutes of shifting under it uncomfortably he decided to sit on it instead.

"You appear troubled. Does a shadow lie upon your soul Arowan?" he asked.

"No, I'm just still suffering from eating too much last night," said Arrow. She scratched the back of her neck absent mindedly. A shadow was indeed lying over her soul from her conversation with Imoen but she wasn't quite sure how to explain it. After all, Imoen hadn't implied anything bad had happened to her at Candlekeep. Arrow just had a gut feeling that something wasn't right. She decided to find out more about her new friend instead. "How did you become a Sun Soul monk?"

"It seems so long ago that I first joined the order," he reflected. "Thinking of those days revives fond memories even as it reminds me of those precious things I have lost."

"How long ago could it be?" asked Arrow. "You can't be much older than I am."

"I expect not, but I joined as a young child," he said. Arrow couldn't help noticing that Xan had a point. Rasaad did not seem so still and serene as when they had first met. He kept making little movements as though unable to get comfortable. She was in no position to judge though. She had picked up a mysterious rash on her back and ankles which was easy to ignore while they were on the move, but now that she was sat still it was starting to drive her nuts.

"They let children become monks?" she asked incredulously.

"This surprises you?" he raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Arrow opened and shut her mouth a few times. She did not like to say, "Because allowing someone to commit to a life of celibacy before they're old enough to even know what sex _is_ cannot be appropriate." Perhaps he was not so naïve as she had supposed though, because he seemed to guess the general gist of her thoughts.

"I was not permitted to take any actual vows until adulthood and I have not taken all of them now," he explained. Arrow resisted the temptation to ask him which ones had been omitted. "How I came to be taken into the monastery as a boy is a long story and not a happy one I'm afraid."

"Tell me," she said encouragingly. He ended up sharing far more than he had intended. About his mother's death in childbirth, his father's struggles to raise himself and his brother Gamaz and the family's mounting debts.

As he spoke she didn't say much but fixed him with kind brown eyes, asking questions here and there. He hadn't known the ranger for long but he found her easy to talk to, in a way that his friends at the monastery weren't. He supposed he could talk to Sixscar, but any memory from before his life at the monastery, she would dismiss as irrelevant. Any thought or sentiment that deviated even slightly from the teachings of the Sun Soul would earn him an immediate rebuke. Sixscar was right, of course, but at the same time being able to share the things weighing on his heart was a relief.

"My father was condemned to the Arena Efreetum, where he fought and died for the entertainment of the people," he said. Arrow was reminded uncomfortably of Eric. She had to remind herself that the frightened young man was a product of her own imagination and not a real person. Rasaad continued, "His death left Gamaz and me to scratch out a life upon the streets. We helped each other as best we could, begging, serving, and yes… sometimes stealing."

He looked ashamed of himself. Arrow touched his arm lightly. There were many people in this story she felt had reason to be ashamed. The audience in the arena, the people who would walk past hungry little children and do nothing, but not Rasaad. She told him so, which seemed to cheer him up a little.

"One day Gamaz was caught with his hand upon the purse of a Sun Soul monk. Rather than punish us, the monk brought us to the monastery where we were bathed, fed and clothed as initiates."

"Your Gorion," she said with a small smile.

"He was not my adopted father," Rasaad corrected her. "In truth we saw little of him after that. Nevertheless, Selune blessed Gamaz and me the day we met that monk. From that day forward the light of the goddess brightened our existence."

"Gorion wasn't my father!" said Arrow with a light laugh, remembering her exasperating conversation with Imoen. "Why does everybody think that?"

"Forgive me, I was simply repeating what Khalid told me," said Rasaad.

"Not important, seems to be a common misconception," said Arrow with a shrug. "So, what brought you all the way to Nashkel?"

"While divided by distance and allegiance to three different gods, the various sects of the Order of the Sun Soul cooperate across Faerun. When the sect in Athkatla stopped responding to messages, my masters in Calimport sent ten monks to investigate. Gamaz and I were among those chosen to set sail to Amn. We found the monastery abandoned," he said. Arrow blinked, this was news to her, though it must have happened quite recently. "You look troubled Arrow, but surely you were not familiar with the Order?"

"Not exactly, but a pair of Selunite monks lived in Candlekeep. They went back to their monastery a few months ago. Is there more than one branch of the Sun Soul order in Amn?" she asked. "Are they ok?"

"They were all killed," said Rasaad frowning, "We were sent to investigate. But tell me, why were the monks visiting Candlekeep?"

"I don't know," said Arrow, feeling a little stunned. The rain was slowing to a dull patter now. They were sat very close together in the tent in order to avoid touching the sides and inviting water in. She had felt quite comfortable getting into this position, but as soon as she mentioned the monks Rasaad had become rather intense. It was suddenly starting to feel quite claustrophobic.

"It's a long way from Amn to Candlekeep, they must have had a reason! Were they looking for any particular book?" he insisted. He knelt up and crouched before her, holding her arms, his eyes searching her face. "Please Arowan, this might be important!"

"I- I really don't know, we didn't talk much. They spent most of their time in Gorion's chambers. They weren't visiting Candlekeep exactly. They more sort of lived there," she said. She told him the monks' names but he didn't recognize them.

"You say they lived there? That's impossible, Sun Soul monks never take up residence outside their monasteries unless they're travelling on a specific mission. How long were they there for?" he asked.

"At least ten years," she said uncomfortably. This had shifted from a conversation into more of an interrogation. Rasaad looked disappointed.

"You must be mistaken," he sighed. Arrow scowled. She knew she wasn't. Though she hadn't spoken to them much, the resident Selunites had been around almost as long as she could remember. They were as much a part of Candlekeep as the dusty old furniture.

"If you say so," she said curtly. "Excuse me, I'm distracting you from your meditations. If the rain is stopping I should probably go hunting"

She shrugged him off and stood up, upset. She did not particularly want to go hunting (the rain had not eased off that much) but a soaking felt preferable to continuing this conversation. Rasaad seemed to realise that he was behaving strangely and he got a grip on himself.

"Forgive me," he said, catching her hand as she started to open the tent. "I should not have spoken to you like that. During our investigations the agents of Shar who destroyed the Athkatla sect also murdered my brother, Gamaz."

Arrow turned back, stricken.

"Oh Rasaad, I'm so sorry," she said quietly. She hesitated a moment, feeling that it was far too early in their friendship to hug him, but there was nobody else available and she could not think what else to do. He tensed at first as though unsure what she was doing, then wrapped his arms around her back. The closest Rasaad usually came to being hugged was when he was being wrestled to the ground in a sparring session with a fellow monk. The warm, gentle weight of the woman pressed against him was surprisingly comforting. Her hair smelled nice too, like leather and pine. He pressed his face into it a little.

The tent flap opened with a wet rustle and they both looked up, startled.

"Imoen!" exclaimed Arrow. The other girl looked at the two of them sat on a blanket in a private hug. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"Oops!" she said loudly, dropping the flap back in place. "Really sorry!"

Arrow dropped Rasaad and hurried out of the tent to catch her, dragging the embarrassed girl back through the rain and into the tent. She plonked her reluctant friend on her sleeping bag, ignoring the fact that this would mean soaking it. "Imoen will know, she was always hanging around Gorion's tower! Imoen, those two monks Gorion kept in his suite. They were Selunites, right?"

"Yeah?" said Imoen slowly.

Despite feeling terrible about what she had just heard about his brother, Arrow also felt somewhat vindicated by this. Rasaad however was on poor confused Imoen like a flash.

"Do you have any idea what they were doing there?" he asked urgently.

For the second time that day, Imoen appeared to have difficulty speaking.

"Werewolf," she said. Then she added a strange disclaimer, as though she were talking to some invisible judge. "I'm just speaking in general terms, that's allowed!" She looked around, anxiously, poking her neck, as if she were not at all sure that it would be allowed. When the invisible strangulation failed to materialize she continued, "I heard a rumour that they were there to help a werewolf learn to control themselves. I can't give you any more information than that, I'm sorry."

Imoen turned and dived back out of the tent. Whether this was out of fear of being made to talk further, or because she misunderstood the situation she had walked in on was not entirely clear. Understandably, Rasaad was less interested in what Imoen might imagine the two of them were doing in her tent, than in the monks at Candlekeep and how it might relate to the Dark Moon murders.

"That makes sense," he said. "Good and neutral lycanthropes are favoured servants of Selune. Those wishing to control their condition are welcomed into our monasteries, in fact I knew a few back in Calimport. That said, I have never heard of a case where it was the other way around and the monks left the monastery to go and live with the werewolf. I suppose an exception might be made if there was a specific reason that the afflicted person could not be moved."

They both mused on it. Arrow had heard vague rumours about a werewolf in the castle. Of course, she'd heard rumours about a lot of odd things. Hull once tried to tell her he'd seen a man talking to a pair of zombies in the laundry room. He must think she was born yesterday. Sheltered though her life had been, even she knew that zombies couldn't talk. Windups like that were common though. It was a small world in Candlekeep and people got bored. Undeniably a strange howling did ring through the windows at night from time to time. She had attributed her violent dreams about the wolf-girl to hearing that noise in her sleep.

"I doubt there is any connection to the massacre in Athkatla," Rasaad concluded at length. "Imoen said they spent a lot of time in Gorion's apartments. Is it possible that your guardian was a werewolf?"

Arrow considered this, then shrugged. She had little more to go on than Rasaad did, having not known her guardian well. Something else was bothering her too. Her dream about the wolf-girl being bitten had taken place in the woods around Candlekeep, she knew those trees well enough to be certain of that. The trashed room where she endured her subsequent transformations was in a part of the castle that she didn't recognize but that too was Candlekeep. She could tell from the size and shape of the stones in the wall, the style of thatching in the ceiling.

Having decided that the visiting monks were unlikely to have had anything to do with the attacks by Shar's followers, Arrow and Rasaad returned to the original subject. They talked about his mission, his brother and everything that had happened since his arrival on the Sword Coast until it was almost too dark to see each other, and Jaheira stuck her head in to tell the monk very firmly to get back to his own bed.


	5. Mulahey's Legacy

Imoen slipped in past Rasaad as he left their tent. Even in this minimal light Arrow could see her friend looking at her expectantly. Admittedly, her timing walking in on them had been poor, but surely she could not think that she was secretly making out with a man she had only known for a few days. A monk no less!

"Wow, you work fast!" Imoen giggled.

"Come off it," Arrow grinned. She climbed into her sleeping bag, the one that Imoen had sat on earlier and drenched with rain water. At the time Arrow had been too preoccupied with their conversation to think about it. "Oh no, it's still soaking wet."

"Here, use Mulahey's blanket," suggested Imoen. The patchwork quilt from the half-orc's room had been used to dry off Rasaad earlier but it was very thick and the water had not seeped through to the other side. It would have to do.

"Smells of orc," grumbled Arrow.

"It could smell a lot worse. At least Mulahey took baths," whispered Imoen. "Am I the only one who thinks that was strange? An orc taking an icy-cold bath in the middle of the day?"

"Of all the strange things that have happened to us in the last few weeks, that is the one that stands out for you?"

"That and walking in on you getting all cosy with Rasaad," Imoen giggled. "But I'm trying to banish that mental image. Oi!" Arrow threw the wet sleeping bag over her face. The other girl was quiet for a minute. Then she added, almost without giggling, "So do you think he's good looking?"

"No!" said Arrow, too fast and too loud.

"You do!" squealed Imoen, delightedly. "Yes, you do! I know that 'no!' That's the 'no' you used to use when I asked you about Hull! Arrow has a boy-friend…"

"I'm going to sleep now," said Arrow firmly. She couldn't tell her the real reason she was hugging Rasaad, since she wasn't sure whether he had told her those things in confidence. It was taking all her restraint not to though. At Candlekeep, Imoen had teased Arrow mercilessly about the crush she imagined she had on one of the guards, Hull. Just because she ran a few errands for him. Maybe more than a few. Maybe in Hull's case Imoen wasn't entirely imagining it…. but she was wrong about Rasaad.

Arrow drifted off to sleep curled up in the orc's blanket. Her last thought before she slipped under was that the itchy rash on her ankles was spreading. She would ask Jaheira about it… in the morning…

The mines were pitch black but that didn't matter. The wolf could find her prey by scent and floating above her like a spirit Arrow could sense them too. These were not goblins or kobolds but human guards. They were getting close now. There was a long dormitory lined with bunks and chests full of personal possessions. A small fireplace was set at one end with a long chimney reaching to the surface, but the tiny blaze did little to drive the chill from the room. The guards were shivering under their blankets. They looked so helpless. So warm and red and full of blood. She wanted to bite but… no. Not humans. Never humans.

The wolf transformed into a woman. It was hard to see her in the dim light, but Arrow squinted to get a look. She dreamed about the wolf fairly regularly but rarely saw her in human form. These sorts of dreams were invariably violent, and most of the violent events in the wolf-girl's life took place on all fours.

She was so beautiful that at first Arrow thought she was seeing an avatar of one of Faerun's goddesses, or a hero from her childhood storybooks come to life. The last time she had seen the girl as a human she had been rather lanky and awkward looking, but she had grown very curvy with a swaggering, confident posture. Two bastard swords were strapped to her back, but she had not drawn them yet. Something of the wolf remained in her slightly pointed canines, bright grey eyes and her hair which was as golden and as silky as her fur.

Two cloaked figures carrying daggers were sneaking up behind her. If the wolf noticed them she did not acknowledge it, but slipped her hand around the door to the guard room ready to pull it shut. One of the cloaked figures raised her dagger over the stunning lycanthrope's head.

She plunged it sharply into seemingly empty air. The wolf jumped in surprise and pulled the door. It shut with a small click. There was a gurgle, a spurt of blood and suddenly a mercenary mage became visible. The cloaked figure had stabbed him in the throat, interrupting whatever curse he had been about to plant on the werewolf. She pulled out her dagger and he fell to the floor making horrible rasping noises.

"Honestly," the cloaked woman began in a sneering drawl, "What use is that dog-nose of yours if you can't even sniff this one out? Even I could smell him! Coran, be a good boy and loot the body would you?"

The scent of human blood was overpowering. It made the wolf want to tear into the mage's flesh and rip out pieces with her teeth. The urge was so strong that Arrow wanted it with her. When she was done with the mercenary she would do the same to the guards in their beds… and then to her own allies… she would kill everyone…

"ARRRGGGHHH!"

"Arrow! What is it? Did you have another nightmare?" cried Imoen.

"There's blood on my hands!" screamed Arrow at the top of her lungs. "Why is there blood on my hands?"

The tent flap ripped open. Arrow sat up, dazzled by the morning light, staring at her own palms in horror. The urge to kill in the dream had been so strong. Had she acted on it in her sleep? No, that was impossible, she was still wrapped up in Mulahey's patchwork quilt.

"Who did you shoot this time?" grumbled Jaheira, scratching her shoulder sleepily.

Arrow struggled free of the blanket. It was disgustingly damp and sticky. She emerged from the tent flicking blood droplets everywhere.

"No-one! I didn't hurt anyone," she said and relief flooded through her. "It's my own blood," she panted, calming down as the memory of the werewolf's bloodlust subsided.

There was a very awkward pause. The three men, who seconds ago were half way out of their tents to see if she was alright were suddenly feigning sleep. Imoen facepalmed. Jaheira padded over to her young charge.

"Ah I see," said the druid, putting her arm around Arrow in an uncharacteristically motherly way. "I am sorry Arrow. This is my fault for not properly preparing you. I had assumed that your monthly cycles had begun some time ago."

It took a moment for the implication to sink in. When it did the ranger rolled her eyes.

"That is not where the blood is coming from," said Arrow through gritted teeth, adding a little extra volume to make absolutely certain that everybody was clear on that point. "It's my arms and my legs. I must have been scratching them in my sleep."

"Let me see," commanded Jaheira, her usual abrasive manner returning at once. She snatched up the ranger's arm and blinked in disbelief. "Scratching? You've been clawing at them! What were you thinking child? This is going to need a healing spell, or it will get infected!"

"I didn't do it on purpose, I was scratching in my sleep!" snapped Arrow.

"Uh oh," said Jaheira, as though struck by a sudden unpleasant thought. She dropped Arrow's arm and ducked into the tent with Imoen. The druid picked up the patchwork quilt Arrow had been sleeping in and inspected it closely. As she did so her expression darkened. The men emerged slowly from their tents, stretching and rubbing sleep from their eyes.

"Actually n- now that you mention it," ventured Khalid, "I am also feeling a little i- i- itchy."

He and Rasaad looked at Arrow's arms in a concerned way. As well as the scratch marks they were covered in tiny red lumps like blisters. The elf seemed afraid to go anywhere near her but tried to peer into the tent at what Jaheira was doing, albeit from a safe distance.

"No doubt we have contracted some foul contagion from the mines," sighed Xan. "We are all doomed."

The druid put down the blanket and stepped out of the tent with a grim expression.

"It is not us who have been infected," said Jaheira solemnly, "But our bedrolls. Probably also our clothes. There is nothing for it, we will have to burn the lot."

They goggled at her. What were they supposed to do if they burned their bedrolls and clothes? Huddle together like penguins to keep warm and stroll into Beregost naked?

"I am not burning my robes!" Xan protested, hugging them protectively about him. "They're the only armour I've got!"

"We have to. We have lice."

"Ewww!" moaned Imoen, shooting out of her bedroll like a scalded cat. She squirmed uncomfortably, pulling at her contaminated clothing. "Please tell me you're not serious?"

"Just makes your skin crawl doesn't it?" said Arrow, who was never above a cheap gag.

"I bet you were i-itching to say that," quipped Khalid. Arrow grinned at him slyly. Game on.

"They're so gross! Where did they even come from?" Imoen wailed.

"Xzar and Montaron I expect," said Jaheira, unfairly.

"No, it'd be _lousy_ to blame them. It started after they l- left," said Khalid. He held up two discrete fingers to Arrow. "I first s- started noticing something on the way back to N- Nashkel. My arms were itching like crazy."

"Mine too," confessed Rasaad.

"Is that why you kept putting Xan down and rubbing your arms?" laughed Arrow, "I thought it was some sort of weird Calishite death-ritual."

Revolting though this was, Xan was relieved that he had an explanation for the monk's incessant squirming. His new roommate, Rasaad, seemed to be particularly susceptible to the biting insects. He had been unable to meditate without constant shifting which made it very hard for Xan to concentrate on memorizing his spells. It had been most irritating.

"I felt the itching as soon as I woke up in the temple," the wizard said. "Not just my arms, I'd been bitten everywhere. I thought I had contracted them in Mulahey's cave. He kept catching lice from those blasted kobolds you know. I'd managed to avoid them up until that point."

"And you chose not to mention this sooner because…?" Jaheira stared at him accusingly.

"Would you tell people you'd only just met that you'd been infested with lice?" he replied gloomily. "I cast a resist-fire spell, then went to the privy and set myself alight. The itching went away after a few hours so I assumed I'd incinerated the little gits. I didn't know you'd kept one of Mulahey's blankets as a souvenir." Jaheira continued to scowl at him.

"Oh, stop _bugging_ him about it Jaheira," said Arrow. "The poor man had just come back from the dead. He had to start from _scratch._ " She held up three fingers at Khalid when their leader looked away.

Suddenly Imoen squeaked and did an excited little jiggle on the balls of her feet. They looked at her curiously.

"That's why the orc was taking ice baths!" exclaimed Imoen.

"He must have been trying to sooth the itching," Rasaad mused, eyeing the cool, bubbling river longingly and scratching his back. He had been finding it hard to focus for days and was annoyed with himself for being so easily distracted.

"I knew that was strange!" exclaimed Imoen, shooting Arrow and Jaheira a triumphant look. "See? Didn't I tell you there was something up with that?"

"Well done child," snapped Jaheira impatiently. "You have solved the Great Mystery of the Bathing Orc! You are truly a master detective!" Imoen stuck her tongue out at her.

"At first Mulahey used potions to rid himself of them but the kobolds kept reinfecting him with more lice," Xan said. "In the end he gave up and used ice baths as a way to live with them."

"That is so disgusting!" moaned Imoen, scratching frantically. "Get them off me!"

"You could always try _f-flea_ ing from them," suggested Khalid innocently.

"Alright, that is enough bug jokes!" Jaheira chided Khalid and Arrow. She scratched her neck irritably.

"S-sorry dear, couldn't help it," said Khalid, putting an arm around her and scratching her shoulder helpfully.

"Quit _pest_ ering me!" She snapped, but her eyes were twinkling. Her husband smiled fondly and they kissed in an unusual display of public affection. Imoen turned away.

"So now what?" asked Xan despondently after a while.

They packed up their tents and walked on toward their destination because there didn't seem much choice. The storm of the previous night had cleared the clouds and the sun beat down on them intensely. This was a mixed blessing because while it was helping to dry out their belongings, it also exacerbated the itching.

"We are close to Beregost," said Jaheira at around noon. They could see the tiled roofs of the modest town peaking between gaps in the treeline. The river flowed close to it and they sat by it to eat lunch. Rasaad tried once again to meditate but, just as Xan had described, he was unable to maintain focus due to the constant itching. Finally, abandoning all pretence, he stripped off his shirt and dived into the water. Arrow tried to work out what the usually-hidden tattoos were meant to be, but she kept getting distracted by the muscles underneath. After a while she sensed Imoen smirking at her and realized she was staring.

She blushed and looked back to the rest of the party. Jaheira was chopping herbs into an ugly orange potion. She held it up to the light and smiled, satisfied. Then without warning she dumped half of the foul smelling liquid onto Imoen's head. The pink haired girl squeaked in protest as the older woman massaged it aggressively into her follicles. Then it was Arrow's turn. The druid was rubbing with such aggression she was sure her fingers must be leaving bruises. The smell was so strong it made her nose run and her eyes water. Then she did the same to Khalid.

"This should kill the lice in your hair," the half-elf said helpfully.

"How come you and Xan don't get any?" grumbled Imoen.

"Xan already got rid of his with the fireball," said Jaheira. She offered no explanation as to why her own hair was spared the potion. At her instruction the party made a bonfire out of their clothes and bedding. After a thorough inspection of Xan, she declared that his fireball self-treatment had been successful and his clothes would be spared. Then, to the elf's obvious annoyance, she helped herself to his cloak, her own clothes being already on the bonfire. The plate and chainmail was divided between Imoen and Arrow which provided them some measure of decency, though not enough for them to enter a settlement without comment. Instead it was decided that Khalid in his metal pants and Xan, whose breeches had escaped the purge, would accompany Jaheira into Beregost to buy replacement linen.

The remainder of the party stood shivering on the banks of the river, huddled around their smouldering bed clothes for warmth. A cold fog was rising slowly off of the water and Arrow hoped the others would return with fresh garments soon. She was also conscious that Khalid's armoured plate was not covering her quite as effectively as she would ideally like. Still, there was no risk of anybody finding her particularly alluring today. Not with her guardian's evil smelling potion saturating her head.

"These lice are driving me to distraction!" exclaimed the monk.

"You're better off than the rest of us," said Imoen. "I wish I was bald right now."

"Actually, that is not entirely a coincidence," said Rasaad. "At the monastery we were taught against inflicting unnecessary harm upon our fellow living beings, and yet close communal living meant that lice were an ever-present threat."

"Wait, are you saying you shave your heads specifically to avoid lice?" Arrow asked curiously.

"Partly. Many spiritual rituals can trace their roots back to a practical application."

"Hey Rasaad, I have a question!" chirped Imoen. "At the monastery do you only shave your heads, or do you do your entire bodies?"

"Most of our bodies, yes," said Rasaad. "As you can see."

The only garments apart from Xan's to escape the fire were the metal armour which was unable to harbour lice. These mail vests had been divided between the girls to protect their modesty which had left the monk with nothing but a small, prickly bush to squat in. It left little to the imagination, and yet Imoen was imagining anyway.

"Yes but, I mean, do Sun Soul monks… are there any areas you don't shave? I'm asking for a friend," Imoen added. Arrow glared at her.

"Well not every last hair. Obviously I do not shave my eyebrows," said Rasaad.

"She had to ask," said Arrow seriously, "Because Jaheira is going to have to apply her orange potion anywhere you don't shave. Just to make sure we get every last louse. I do mean anywhere I'm afraid. Those little creeps get around! So... is there anywhere you don't shave? She'll need to give it a firm rub!"

For a split second Rasaad looked horrified, but then his face split into a warm smile.

"You are making a joke!" he laughed. "You are very funny, though I confess I cannot always tell when you are teasing and when you are being serious."

"I'm not always sure when you are either," she said mischievously. "I don't mind that. Trying to figure it out is kind of fun."

The monk looked pleasantly surprised.

"I have never been described as fun before," he said.

"And you are the first person to describe me as funny," sighed Arrow. "Which is tragic because I try so hard."

The afternoon soon grew dull. They couldn't go anywhere or do anything, especially Rasaad who was pretty much stuck behind the prickly bush. Out of boredom rather than any serious hope of catching one, Arrow took her bow and positioned herself by the water to try and shoot a fish. Imoen slipped up behind her. The orange potion was clashing horribly with her pink hair.

"Oh Rasaad! I don't mind if I can't understand your jokes," Imoen said in a mocking whisper, fluttering her eyelashes. "It's kind of fun to figure it out!"

"The last thief to sneak up behind me got shot in the head," Arrow replied dryly. "Just saying."

"Rasaad is fond of you," Imoen smirked.

"Rasaad is a monk."

"That must be tough mustn't it? Liking someone completely off limits?" said Imoen. She suddenly looked a bit sad.

"Imoen… do _you_ like Rasaad?" asked Arrow slowly, finding herself hoping that the answer was no.

"Oh gods no!" laughed Imoen perking up a bit. "I mean his accent is nice and everything but… I just meant… well it doesn't matter what I meant," she finished lamely.

"Is it Xan?"

"Let's just drop it ok?"

"Is it me? It's me isn't it?" teased Arrow striking a mock-sexy pose at the water's edge.

Imoen gave her what she intended to be a playful shove, but Arrow overbalanced and fell into the river with a heavy splash.

At first Imoen laughed at her but unfortunately Arrow, who was normally a strong swimmer, was still wearing Khalid's plate mail. The shock of the cold and the burning pain of water in her lungs rendered her too insensible to unclip the armour and swim ashore. She sank very quickly.

Every breath was agony but the instinct to inhale was too strong. She flailed mindlessly, her body's last ditch attempt to save itself. This was it then… what a stupid way to die. She could even taste Jaheira's awful louse potion as it dissolved from her hair and mingled with the surrounding water.

After what felt like a lifetime but couldn't really have been more than a minute or so, she felt hands at her side unbuckling the plate mail, pulling it off her roughly and letting it sink. Then she was being dragged from the water, lifted like she weighed no more than a cat and finally placed gently on the ground. The arms attempted to release her but she buried into them for comfort, her nails pressing into muscle. If she had been cold before it was nothing to how she felt now, shivering and coughing mucky water into someone else's chest.

Her eyes stung too badly from the potion to open them, but she knew the person who had pulled her out must be Rasaad. Imoen scuttled over, apologising profusely. He tried to get up and leave her to her friend but again she clung on and finally he relented. Battles did not really frighten Arrow though she knew she might be killed in one. It was her own helplessness in this near-death scenario that left her feeling so vulnerable. A cuddle from Imoen would not make her feel safe in the same way.

_A logical sentiment,_ she thought to herself, _since it was Rasaad who saved me and Imoen who pushed me in there in the first place._

At last they heard the trudge of returning footsteps. By this time Arrow was very cold indeed and was shivering violently in Rasaad's arms. He had moved them as close to the dying fire as he could and held her in a bundled up ball to try and keep her warm.

"What is going on here?" asked Jaheira suspiciously. Arrow opened her eyes. Her guardian was glaring daggers at Rasaad, her hand on her hip. For the first time it dawned on Arrow how very strange this must look. She ought to move, but exposing any more of her naked body to the freezing air was more than she could stand.

"Imoen tried to drown me," she mumbled, pointing at her accusingly.

"Of all the idiocy," muttered the druid. "I was gone for a few hours. You two! Get dressed! Imoen wash that potion out of your hair. If those blasted lice survived that we'll just ask Xan to fireball your head. On second thoughts I am strongly tempted to do that anyway, without a resist-fire spell!" She threw bundles of new clothes at Rasaad and Imoen. "I will take care of Arrow."

Arrow, as it turned out, needed a lot of taking care of. She found herself too frozen to dress properly, never mind walk into the town, and in the end Rasaad had to carry her wrapped in a new sleeping bag. The innkeeper glared at them suspiciously but when Jaheira explained that she and Khalid were her guardians and the girl had fallen into the river he discounted their rooms and promised to send up some hot soup.

Over the next few days she became very sick with a fever that dragged her in and out of consciousness. Several of the people from her recurring dreams died, which Arrow considered a silver lining as it meant she would never have to see any of them again. A cleric of Helm was beheaded on the altar of his own god, a young fighter was torn apart by gnolls and another died exploring a heavily trapped tower. Unfortunately, the wolf-woman survived, though whatever part of Arrow's subconscious she represented was having a particularly savage week.

She was dimly aware of a chair by her bed where her friends came to sit with her. Sometimes Khalid or Imoen, others Rasaad. Xan popped in at one point but was shooed away by Jaheira when he started prophesying that she was the first victim of an apocalyptic plague. The druid was a constant presence. Whenever Arrow woke up she was there whispering healing spells, mopping her forehead, trying to persuade her to try some broth. She had never been mothered before. If she hadn't felt so hideously ill it might have been nice.


	6. Viconia

They never left her alone. It was so frustrating. The rivvil brat was weak and sick. It would be so easy to pluck her from her bed, claim the reward and better yet the shelter of the Iron Throne.

Viconia watched the inn door open and counted out her companions as they stepped into the morning drizzle. The wizard, the monk and the child with the ridiculous hair. So that left Gorion's famous ward with the two mongrels to protect her. She growled in irritation. Over a week of fruitless stalking and nothing to show for it but boredom and an empty belly.

She decided to follow the other three to market. It was less risky than usual as the damp foggy weather provided her with a layer of extra cover. Perhaps if she could get the darthiir wizard alone she could steal his robes, pull the hood over her face and slip past the guardians to her target's bedroom. She hurried after them, feet slipping on the wet cobbles. Though the streets were not crowded at this time of day there was still too much noise to hear the surfacers' conversation.

A tethered horse snorted behind her making her jump. Viconia felt permanently edgy on the surface. Were she to be recognized as a drow no doubt these people would have her tortured and put to death. It was the same story wherever she went. Earning the bounty for the girl was not her main goal, although she could use the money. Far more important was the opportunity to show her usefulness to the powerful people hunting her, and perhaps gain their protection for herself.

This was a risky strategy. Gorion's ward was said to be one of the largest werewolves in the region, as well as a fine dual wielder in human form. Had she not heard a rumour that the girl was seriously ill, she would never dream of attempting a kidnap.

The trio stopped to have a conversation and Viconia sidestepped into an empty alley. She discretely unfolded the wanted notice to take another look at her prey. Grinning back at her was the outline of a rivvil female stunning enough to give even the drow a run for her money. It seemed incredible that her male enemies weren't demanding that she be brought to them alive. In fact, assuming that this portrait was accurate, Viconia found it incredible that the woman even _had_ any male enemies.

The monk and the wizard were going their separate ways now. The square faced runt with candyfloss hair was looking between them trying to decide which one to follow.

"Chase the monk, feeble one," muttered Viconia under her breath. As if Shar had personally answered her wish, the wizard shooed her away and the girl trotted off obediently after the bald man. The drow smirked and slipped after the wizard. He was an attractive, albeit skinny male. Perhaps, since her plan was to tie him up and steal his robes anyway, they might have some fun before she returned to the hunt.

As it happened, Xan was well aware that he was being followed, but he assumed the hooded stalker to be a Greycloak messenger. He sent the humans away, then strolled through the market, pausing at several stalls. He pretended to examine various trinkets and pieces of fruit to give her chance to catch up. It was only when he got to the fourth stall and she had still failed to deliver her message that he became suspicious. He pretended not to notice and meandered over to a bookseller.

"This one please," he murmured to the merchant, swapping some golden coins for a Hold Person scroll. He looped around the stalls in wide circles just to make sure the stranger really was tailing him. Then he ducked into a dark side alley.

Viconia grinned wickedly and followed him.

"Here male, male, male," she crooned mockingly, slipping into the alley. "Come on out. I can resist your spells, but if you resist me I'll have to punish you."

"What do you want?" asked Xan, stepping out of the shadows.

"I want to tie you up and take your clothes off" she smiled, lowering her hood to reveal her beautiful face and sweeping silver hair. "So, as you can see, co-operating was the smart thing to do."

"Drow!" snarled Xan in alarm.

She smirked and stuck her chest out proudly. Doubtless this was the first time this poor creature had met a representative of her species. No wonder he looked so aghast. His own sense of sheer inferiority must be crushing him right now. She was about to step toward him and say something vaguely comforting when she realised she could not move. The ungrateful insect had cursed her with a spell!

"Pathetic worm! Release me at once!" she spat in fury.

Xan sagged with relief. Drow had innate magic resistance, and as soon as he saw what she was he had begun to doubt whether the Hold Person scroll would work. What to do with her now? All he had to do was yell 'drow' and even on this damp morning there were enough people about that a mob would soon take care of her. On the other hand, a public hanging seemed excessive when all she had done so far was follow him.

"I'll ask again, what do you want?" he asked evenly. He was sure the spell would not hold indefinitely but he could not decide what to do with her. Perhaps establishing why she was tailing him in the first place might help him to make up his mind.

"My apologies for following you male," she said sarcastically. "Your limbs were so spindly and weak that at first I mistook you for a giant spider. I thought to make you my pet."

Xan responded to this by sending warning sparks shooting from his fingers. They singed the ends of her hair. She gritted her teeth, as though biting back a tidal wave of insults. The look in her eyes told him that as soon as she was free of the spell, he was a dead man.

"I told you what I wanted," she rasped. "I wasn't going to hurt you, I just wanted your clothes!"

"Why?" he asked sharply. She didn't answer right away, it looked as if she were trying to think of an excuse. "Have it your way." He raised his voice, "DRO-"

"No!" she hissed desperately. "No, wait! I was going to pretend to be you and sneak up to see Gorion's ward! That is the truth I swear it!"

"Why?" he pressed.

"I… I want to join your party!" she exclaimed.

Of all the excuses the drow could have offered up for following him, this was probably the most ridiculous. Xan actually laughed a little at the sheer nerve of it. He pulled out a wand of Magic Missile and tapped it against his leg thoughtfully. He hadn't the faintest idea how to use it, but she didn't need to know that.

"Funny thing happened to us the other night," he said. "A woman came up to us in the inn looking for Gorion's ward. She had a piece of paper on her that I'm willing to bet was a bounty notice. If I searched your pockets would I find a similar piece of paper on you?"

She sighed.

"Yes," she answered reluctantly. What would be the point of lying? The notice was not well hidden, and he clearly had every intention of searching her anyway. Besides she still needed to talk her way out of her predicament and if she didn't tell him the truth now he was unlikely to believe anything else she said. "Left hand pocket of my tunic."

The elf slipped the scroll out and unrolled it. For some reason, even though it was exactly the bounty notice he had expected, it seemed to cause him some confusion. He frowned at it for a while. Long enough that Viconia was able to shake the Hold Person spell, but she decided not to let him know that just yet. It was still possible that she might emerge from this encounter the winner.

"So," she said, flexing her fingers behind her back as though itching to wrap them around the insolent man's throat. "What do you think?"

"What do I think to what?" he mumbled, distracted.

"To my joining your party of course?" she purred.

"You just said that you were trying to claim the bounty on…" he glanced back at the wanted poster, " _Freya._ Not join our party."

"I don't care much about the bounty," the drow replied honestly, "I simply sought the protection of the powers offering it. I'm vulnerable on the surface, people up here really don't like drow."

"Can't imagine why," muttered Xan.

"But there's no guarantee that they would protect me if I brought them Gorion's ward," she pressed on, "And your Freya has earned quite the reputation! Flooding the Cloakwood mines, obliterating a bandit camp. Besides she might have some sympathy with someone like myself given that she too belongs to an… unpopular demographic."

"What are you talking about?" puzzled Xan, staring from her to the parchment and back again.

"Don't be coy. It is well known that the girl is a lycanthrope," smiled Viconia. "Which like I say, in my eyes is a good thing! What better protection from an angry mob than a leader who can turn into a literal monster at will? If nothing else, she'd provide an excellent distraction while I run. So, I am asking, seriously this time, may I join your party?"

"Why would we want you in our party?" Xan asked, baffled by the whole situation.

"I can be of just as much use to her," Viconia pleaded her case. "She is sick, I am a cleric. I can help bring her back to her normal, vicious self! This is a genuine proposition. I wish I had thought of it sooner!"

Xan's arms were folded, and he was glaring at her from beneath his brown hair with nothing but suspicion. Of course, she would have to offer him something as well. Nobody back home in the Underdark would make such an introduction unless there were also some advantage for themselves.

"I could make it worth your while too," she promised silkily, "If you would make my case to your leader. I have mastered techniques for pleasuring males that would not even occur to your pale surface females."

"The suggestion that I would be attracted to some venomous drow…!" Xan spluttered, outraged.

"Your expressions of disgust would be far more convincing if you addressed them to my face and not my chest," she responded coldly.

"I'd gouge my own eyes out before I'd look at your chest or any other part of you in that way!" he argued.

"I take it from the way this conversation is going that you do not intend to allow me into your little group?" she asked frostily.

"Absolutely not!" he declared.

Viconia was done pretending to be magically bound. While they were talking she had made a series of silent appeals to her patron goddess, Shar. She activated the pent-up power now and a blade of fire materialized instantly in her hand.

"Then it looks like we're back to Plan A," she sneered.

Since the drow had a good chance of resisting his spells even if he had time to cast one, Xan drew his own sword. It was a moonblade, a weapon of sufficient might to compensate for the limited martial prowess of it's wielder.

Viconia was quick to strike and savage. Xan barely had time to parry her blow, feeling the heat of her weapon's flames on his face. A series of fast, amateurish blows rained on him and were he himself a half-decent warrior he would have had no difficulty in disarming her. As it was he could barely fend her off.

They stepped back panting. Viconia held her sword out, the point level with the elf's nose, grinning at him evilly. Xan's counter attack was more refined but lacking in physical strength. It was the half-hearted effort of one with little appetite for blood.

"It didn't have to be like this," she laughed nastily. "I could have just taken your clothes and stolen the girl. You could even have watched me getting changed, think what a nice memory that would have been!" There was a roasting whoosh as her blade swung down to meet his again. "As it is I have an even better idea. Since there are no vacancies in Freya's party I'll just have to free one up by killing you!"

She swung her blade at his neck. He flung himself back, slipping on the damp cobblestones and falling backward. She advanced on him, blade raised, ready to send him to a fiery end. The wizard muttered hurried words, backing away and vanished. She slammed her sword into the spot where she had last seen him, but the invisible wizard had rolled out of the way.

Viconia heard the patter of feet sprinting past her and out of the alley. She could see the splashes on the ground where his feet made contact and were she at liberty to pursue him she could have run him through regardless of his spell. Unfortunately, he was now safely within line of sight of the market. If a drow were to come bursting out of the alley wielding a flame blade… well that wasn't an option.

With a heartfelt curse she dispelled her blade and hoisted her hood back up. She would have to flee Beregost now. The surfacer knew she was here and had every incentive to turn her in.

Xan did not stop running or look behind him until he was level with Rasaad. The monk was wrapping up a transaction with a stall keeper who handed him a neat little parcel. Forgetting that he was still invisible, he grabbed the monk's arm making the other man jump and seize his wrist.

"It's me! It's me!" yelped the elf. "Where is Imoen? We have to get back to the inn right now. There's an assassin after… well… she's a bit confused about exactly who she's after, but she almost killed me!"


	7. Imoen's Curse

The first thing that struck Arrow as odd about this dream was the lack of alliteration. Eric was walking down a torchlit corridor lined with doors, with no monsters or drow in sight. He wore a strange vacant expression on his face and was moving as though his limbs were made of lead. There were odd noises coming from behind some of those doors. One of them burst open and a warrior stomped out, heading toward the pits without a backward glance. Moments later a woman exited behind him.

She had an overly painted face and wore a brightly coloured outfit that left little to the imagination. Arrow felt a bit queasy. Although she had no personal experience in these matters, she had seen just enough of the courtesans in Beregost to make her suspect that she was following the wizard into a brothel.

_Ok, I'll wake up now. Right now,_ she thought, trying to force her eyes open. It didn't work. She really had to wonder what was wrong with her to dream up scenarios like this.

"Hullo Eric dear," the woman said with a smile.

"Bubbles," he acknowledged her in a hollow voice.

"Oh dear," she tutted, picking up his hand. He offered no resistance and when she dropped it, it flopped uselessly to his side. "Poor thing. It's tough at first isn't it? You get used to it eventually you know."

Arrow snorted. She found it difficult to believe that anybody could get used to the fighting pits, but she still felt that Eric was getting a better deal than this 'Bubbles.' Did she really feel bad for her punters, or was feigning sympathy all part of the service? If it was the woman was an excellent actress. She was looking at him with what seemed like genuine concern.

"Taking those potions from the Concoctor is only going to make it worse in the long run," Bubbles told him sadly. "They're addictive you know. You want to wind up in the pits in this state?"

"Maybe," he replied dully, staring off over her shoulder. "Might be for the best."

"Don't say that, don't ever say that!" she said encouragingly. "You are a demigod, a son of Bhaal! You're the best chance we've ever had, even the genie says so! Go in there, do what you need to do to please the punter and take whatever you can get in return. We're going to survive, you and me. Say it."

"We're going to survive," he echoed. A shadow crossed his face. "I have to survive. Whatever happens to me here, death will be worse." Bubbles nodded approvingly. He clenched his jaw, strode past the courtesan and opened one of the doors. Behind him, the woman shot him a worried look. It began to dawn on Arrow that the situation may be even more unpalatable than she had originally supposed. Despite willing it otherwise with all her being, the dream forced her to float along after him and into the room.

He shut the door behind him. The room was small containing nothing but a single chair and a heavily stained bed. There was a faint stench which Arrow did not recognise but it made her uneasy. What made her even more jumpy was that she knew these dreams inevitably ended violently. She shuddered to think what form violence in this scenario might take. Perhaps with Eric blowing his assailant up? She had a feeling that doing so would result in his death later at the hands of the drow slave master.

In the chair sat a tall, hooded figure. His face was not visible, and he had clasped his gloved hands in front of him. He was drumming his fingertips rhythmically as though deep in thought.

"So. You are Eric," said the hooded man in a voice that sent shivers down Arrow's spine. "Word of you has reached me. When I heard what you were I had to see you. You do not disappoint, Bhaalspawn."

He beckoned Eric and the wizard took a few steps closer to the chair. Arrow was once more desperately willing herself to wake up.

"You must be quite adept at this to have earned so many baubles," the man said, reaching out a hand and fingering the magic ring on Eric's finger.

"Yes master," said Eric in a dead voice.

"Impressive. Your will to survive is strong," the man said. "Are you strong enough for my purposes I wonder?"

"Should I disrobe now?" asked Eric. Arrow got the impression that he wanted to get what was coming next over with as quickly as possible.

The hooded man reached over and touched Eric's face in a way that seemed more clinical than sexual. The younger man stared blankly ahead like a zombie.

_He's drugged himself,_ she realized.

"You mistake my intent in coming here," said the hooded man coldly. "You have a great deal of untapped power, Bhaalspawn. Unlock your inner nature and not even Baeloth and his genie will be any match for you."

"Yes master."

The hooded man released Eric's face with a disgusted sigh.

"You are of no use to me in this state!" he declared. "Go away and think carefully on what I have said. And Eric?"

"Yes master?"

"You will take no numbing potions on your next visit."

The hooded man drew himself up to his full height and his fingers began to crackle with green lightening. Even intoxicated, Eric was surprised at this. He tried to work a spell of his own, but his own magic was still disabled by the enchantments on the pit cells. These limitations seemed nothing to the hooded man however. He let his lightening fly at Eric. Normally Arrow was immune to pain and damage in her dreams, but there was something different about this spell.

Pain beyond anything she had ever experienced tore through her brain, and as it did terrible images flashed through her mind. She would struggle to remember them afterwards. It was like the hooded man had driven a knife inside her head and was cutting deeper and deeper. Below her, Eric was writhing on the floor, clutching his skull and screaming in agony. Had Arrow had a knife in her dream she would have plunged it into her own chest to make the pain stop. Drowning and sickness were nothing compared to this.

"You will take no potions next time," the hooded man commanded, releasing Eric. "I shall be most displeased if you do."

Arrow reeled from the torture in her head. Eric was sprawled on the floor, his long black hair covering his face. The hooded man stepped over him and stalked out leaving the boy sobbing on the floor. Once his footsteps receded, Bubbles appeared at the door looking frightened but not altogether surprised. She did not ask what had happened but moved his head into her lap and stroked his hair while he wept. The scene faded from Arrow's mind, but echoes of the pain lingered.

_Knock, knock._

"Come in," said Jaheira sharply.

Imoen and Rasaad slipped through the door and tiptoed over to the bed where Arrow lay. Both the ranger and the druid looked terrible. Arrow was deathly white and shivering in her sleep. Moments ago, she had been feverish and thrashing around under the blankets. Now she took shallow little breaths and every so often a faint whimpering noise escaped her lips. Jaheira looked as though she hadn't slept in days. She had heavy bags under red swollen eyes and a strained expression. There was a smell in the room that suggested that she had not bathed in some time either, but Imoen felt it would be unwise to bring that up.

"Is she any better?" Rasaad asked.

"Worse," sighed Jaheira. "The temple clerics have been round, but they couldn't do much. I won't call them again unless we have to. We spent most of the Nashkel reward money on replacing our clothes. If we run out of gold before Arrow recovers, I'll have to nurse her in a tent."

"I don't get it," said Imoen, "Arrow never gets sick, she has a ranger's constitution. She used to go swimming in the Candlekeep moat and that was way dirtier, the privies emptied into it! How did a tiny bit of river water lay her out like this?"

Jaheira bit her lip. She sat back a little way from the bed, rubbing her temples as though trying to dislodge a headache. Her eyes really did look very puffy. If Imoen didn't know better, she would suspect that the druid had been crying.

"It was not the river water alone," Jaheira said, "She also ingested a large amount of my louse-killer potion. It is a home brewed blend of several powerful poisons. They dissolved from her hair into the water and she breathed them in and swallowed them."

Imoen scowled at the druid accusingly.

"Imoen tries to drown me, she tries to poison me…" croaked Arrow blearily to Rasaad. "And then they get all mad when I shoot at my own party. Double standard much?"

"You are awake!" Rasaad cried happily.

"I am now," she murmured, trying to sit up. Jaheira pushed her back down forcibly and tucked the blankets back under her chin.

"Was there something you two wanted?" the druid snapped.

"Xan is downstairs, he says he needs to talk to you and Khalid," said Imoen. "He's pretty shaken up. Something about an assassin-"

Jaheira appeared to snap out of whatever fatigue or guilt had been weighing her down and sprang to her feet at once. She slammed the window shut and muttered a spell which caused vines to wind around it holding it closed. Then she seized Rasaad and half threw him into the uncomfortable wicker chair that she had been occupying.

"Stay here and guard Arowan," she commanded, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Do not leave this room for any reason! No coffee breaks, no answering calls of nature. You do not step outside for a second, do you understand me?"

"Yes, of course," he stammered.

She sprinted from the room, taking the wooden stairs three at a time, Imoen scurrying behind her. Xan and Khalid were sat at a small table. The wizard was talking urgently while her husband puzzled over a crumpled sheet of parchment. When he saw Jaheira, Xan snatched it out of his hands and ran over to thrust it in her face.

"Look at this!" exclaimed Xan, waving the bounty notice under Jaheira's nose. "I took it from a drow assassin. She tried to kill me to get to Arrow's room only… Well, see for yourself!"

The wizard was making too much of a scene. Other patrons were staring at them. Jaheira seized him by the arm and steered him firmly back to the table, reading the bounty notice with her free hand. She glared at it. This didn't make any sense. Then a shuffling noise behind her made her look around.

"For heaven's sake!" the druid snarled angrily.

"Forgive me, I tried to persuade her to stay in her room," said Rasaad apologetically. Arrow had stumbled downstairs in her nightgown. People were really staring now. The girl looked so bad she was lucky that nobody mistook her for undead and attacked. Arrow lurched determinedly to the table and sat down, trembling but defiant.

"What is going on?" the ranger croaked. Jaheira was about to insist on the girl returning to her sick bed, but Khalid placed a hand gently on her arm and shook his head. She made a frustrated little noise but decided to accept the situation. Once Arrow had some idea what was happening it would probably be easier to coax her back upstairs where she belonged.

"I- It's a b- bounty notice for Gorion's Ward," said Khalid, his brow furrowed.

"Gorion had another ward?" Jaheira asked the girls, "He only mentioned one."

"Only one. He never mentioned me?" frowned Imoen. Then she sighed resignedly. "No, I suppose he wouldn't, would he?" she muttered bitterly to herself.

"It was just me and Imoen," confirmed Arrow, hunching into a little ball in her chair. Rasaad took off his new travelling coat and draped it over her. She smiled gratefully. "I sometimes wished that there were other children but it was definitely just me and Imoen in that library."

"Well this reward is for the capture of Gorion's ward but the name on it says Freya," said Jaheira.

"They're hunting me down to murder me and they don't even have the decency to get my name right?" Arrow asked incredulously.

"Or your f- face," said Khalid, clearly puzzled.

"Those cheap engravings never look like who they're supposed to be," shrugged Arrow.

"True but in this case they've very clearly drawn someone else," he said. "J- judge for yourself."

Arrow extended an arm from under Rasaad's coat and took the parchment out of Khalid's hand. She froze.

"What Arrow? What is it?" Jaheira asked sharply.

Khalid was right. It was definitely not her. For one thing she was far too beautiful with a blonde mane that swished like a hair potion advert and a very prominent chest. Clearly the artist had relished sketching this woman. They'd got the expression down too. Sharp intelligent eyes and a dangerous, wolfish smile.

Arrow recognised that smile. There was no doubt about it. She was looking at the werewolf from her nightmares in the waking world. Shock cut through the sickness and her heart started thumping unpleasantly. She stared at the poster for a long time in horrified fascination, saying nothing.

"Arrow do you know this woman?" her guardian pressed. "Imoen, do you?"

For some reason a pained expression was spreading over Imoen's face as she looked at the poster. Arrow was familiar with that look. It was the same look she wore whenever Arrow caught the other girl's hand in her pocket. Guilt.

"Yessss," said Imoen in a strange rasping voice.

"Wait, you _do_?" yelped Arrow, jumping up. Dizziness struck her instantly and she had to sit back down. She looked up blearily, trying to focus on Imoen, though the room was spinning. "How do you know her? Who is she? Do you have the dreams too?"

"What… dreams…?" asked Imoen with difficulty.

"Imoen? What's wrong w- with you?" asked Khalid, concerned. He stood up and placed a fatherly arm over her shoulders. The girl leaned on him for support as she continued trying to speak.

"I… can't…" struggled Imoen. She was clawing at her throat as though an invisible rope was strangling her.

"She's fighting some sort of curse!" exclaimed Xan. "Maybe I can lift it, hang on."

He began chanting in elvish under his breath, holding his palm toward Imoen. At first it seemed to be making it worse as she began coughing more. Jaheira looked around worriedly at the bar's other occupants to find the bartender looking equally concerned at them. Just as he was about to come over and intervene, Xan finished his chant and Imoen began to breathe more easily.

"It is done," he said simply.

"Th- Thanks Xan," she choked.

"Wh- who did this to you?" cried Khalid angrily.

"Gorion," Imoen panted. She winced as though expecting immediate retribution, but none came. "Ha!" she gasped. "I can say it! Gorion, it was Gorion!"

In her excitement the girl toppled the table candle over, putting it out and sending a stream of hot wax dribbling over the edge. The druid seized it with a grim expression and placed it firmly upright again. Khalid's face changed from angry to conflicted. The Harpers had been close friends of Gorion and clearly neither of them wanted to believe this.

"Gorion?" exclaimed Jaheira. "No child, you are mistaken."

"I can really say it?" Imoen gasped in disbelief, ignoring the half-elf. "Freya! Draxle! Afoxe! Thorg! Arowan! You lifted it!" she screamed, sweeping Xan into a hug that lifted the elf off his feet and kissing his cheek. The man spluttered a protest and she plonked him down. "I can't believe it was that easy!"

"The weakest geas I have ever seen!" declared Jaheira. "Had it really been Gorion's work it could never have been lifted so easily."

"It was not 'easy!'" Xan snapped, highly offended. "I am sure it is very obvious to you all that my personal speciality is not battle magic, but I am extremely adept at what I do! Besides spells are always easier to lift once the original caster moves on from this world."

"I don't believe it!" Jaheira snapped.

"I do," said Arrow quietly. "I know this woman. I've seen her before."

She was picking at the candlewax the thief had spilled with her fingernail. Her voice was very raspy from her illness and Jaheira stopped protesting Gorion's innocence in order to hear what she had to say.

"That shouldn't be possible," said Imoen slowly. "I mean yeah, you have seen her, loads of times but you shouldn't be able to remember it."

"I haven't seen her in real life," Arrow replied feeling a bit silly. "Only in dreams." She began to explain about her dreams. As she did so she noticed the others looking at her strangely. This did not surprise her. She had never discussed the nightmares before for fear of people thinking she was crazy.

"Where was Freya the last time you saw her?" asked Imoen urgently.

"Raiding bandit camps and flooding mines according to that drow," said Xan.

"I saw her down a mine recently," said Arrow. Her illness made speaking difficult. "Not Nashkel. Somewhere else. She was with two friends, a man and a woman."

"She's alive!" Imoen laughed with relief. "And the others?"

Arowan began to describe her other recent dreams. As she did so Imoen's happiness evaporated and her face turned ashen. "Draxle," she whispered when her friend described a dream where a young woman was ripped apart by gnolls. As Arrow continued Imoen's chest began to rise and fall more and more rapidly. She was holding back hysteria until she had established the fate of every one of the dream people. Finally, Arrow finished her gory recap with a description of a half-orc being sliced in two by a trapped treasure chest. Physically she could barely speak at this point, but she was more concerned with Imoen. Wrapping her head around the idea that these characters she had dreamed about her whole life and then watched die were real people would have to wait for later.

"They're all dead?" wailed Imoen.

"I'm sorry Immy," Arrow tried to comfort her, but ended up dissolving into a fit of coughing.

"No, no, no!" howled Imoen, crumpling in two and sobbing at the top of her lungs. Jaheira shot a panicked look at the other bar patrons and back at Khalid.

Her husband placed the crying girl's arm over his shoulder and half-carried Imoen back to her room.

"E- excuse us," he stammered to the barman who was watching them aghast. "F- family bereavement."

"Ah," said the barman nodding sympathetically. "You lot really are having a rough time, aren't you?"

Khalid nodded emphatically and led Imoen upstairs. Her muffled anguish could still be heard in the bar for some time afterwards.

"Are _you_ alright?" Xan asked Arrow.

"I think so," she said shakily. "I didn't know them exactly. I only saw them fight and… and die…"

She had so many questions for Imoen, but at present she was too ill to ask and her friend in no state to answer. So many conflicting feelings were sweeping through her; worry for Imoen, horror that the things she had witnessed were real and curiosity about the surviving pair, Eric and Freya. She recalled with a stab of guilt how relieved she had felt at the others' violent deaths, believing them to be nothing more than figments of her own imagination. There was a flicker of anger at Gorion for whatever he had done. Oddly enough part of her also felt relieved that there was not something hideously wrong with her that would make these graphic scenes spring from her own mind.

Yet by far her strongest feeling was that of fatigue. Jaheira's poisons were still working their way out of her system and she wasn't really well enough to be up. Rasaad and Jaheira seemed to sense this because she felt them lifting her, one on each side. They put one of her arms around each of them and made their own into a sort of seat. Her head flopped onto Jaheira's shoulder and by the time they had carried her to the top of the stairs she was already sleeping.

They placed her gently back into the bed, pulling the blanket over her. The druid moved to take her place in the chair but Rasaad got there first.

"She is past the worst of it now. You must sleep," he insisted. Jaheira hesitated but the truth was that if an assassin turned up now she was in no state to fight them off. She repeated her command that the monk not leave the girl for any reason and then left the room to join Khalid.

With the window bound closed there were minimal city noises to distract Rasaad from the sound of Imoen sobbing herself to sleep in the next room. Meditation in such circumstances was an impossibility. He watched Arrow as she slept for any sign of change, smiling slightly at her snoring. She had a light scattering of freckles on her arms and across her nose. He had not noticed them before but her current pale complexion made them more obvious. With nothing else to occupy his mind, he imagined joining them together to make pictures. On her left arm there were a line of them cutting through a semi-circle, like a sort of bow and arrow.

Despite the temptation to close his eyes he did not sleep that night. If any assassin came for her, he would be prepared. He was glad that Jaheira was bossing him around again. It was a sign that the awkwardness was fading and things were getting back to normal. Despite the druid strategically blocking everyone else's' view of him when he had put Arrow down, and later discretely telling him that his reaction had been perfectly natural, she had still been avoiding eye contact since the incident by the river.

"It is completely normal," she had assured the embarrassed monk later. "Any man holding a woman naked is inevitably going to have a physical reaction, unless he is some sort of monk or something!" There was an uncomfortable silence. "Ah. Well, in any case rest assured I will say nothing to the others, and thank you for rescuing my ward."


	8. The Dark Moon Cult

Dawn came, bringing with it a storm so dark that it was hard to tell morning from night. Jaheira woke up to the sound of rain battering against her window. Her husband was nuzzling her sleepily, his warm breath tickling the back of her neck. She turned over, burying her face into the crook of his arm. He smiled without opening his eyes and wrapped his arms around her pulling her closer to him. Jaheira looked at him and sighed happily. He was so sexy first thing in the morning with his ginger hair all tousled and his shirtless fighter's frame. She stroked her hand up his side to his face, brushing the back of her fingers over his stubble.

"Mmm," he murmured rolling over onto his elbows so that she was looking up at him. She looked pretty rough and still hadn't bathed but Khalid didn't care. He had missed her terribly the last few nights despite seeing her every day. He kissed her shoulders and chest, while working his sword hand lower. She closed her eyes again and relaxed. For once he wouldn't need her telling him what to do. Ten years of practise and (sometimes brutally) honest critique of his technique had made him an expert. "Love you," he grinned.

It wasn't until the others had already been awake for some time that she got up and padded into Arrow's room to relieve Rasaad and send him to get some sleep. Lightning flashed every so often through the vine-locked window. A good day to have nowhere to go. Jaheira smiled with relief as she felt Arrow's forehead. The girl's temperature had returned to normal.

She brought up a small bowl of porridge which Arrow ate in her room while the druid cleaned herself in a small copper basin. Arrow was finally also able to wash, dress and come downstairs looking like a reasonable approximation of a living human being and not a zombie. Jaheira strictly forbade her to leave the inn, but nobody else seemed to feel like going anywhere either. Xan was too nervous of running into the drow again to want to leave without an escort, but there was none available since Rasaad slept all morning while Khalid was in Imoen's room trying to counsel the girl into a more stable frame of mind.

Besides, where was there to go? They had all seen the market, except for Arrow whose dislike of even modest crowds meant that she would not have enjoyed it anyway. The lead they had on the iron crisis had turned out to be a dead end, someone else had got to Tranzig first. Jaheira hadn't bothered mentioning this to Arrow yet. It wasn't like the girl had a personal interest in the iron crisis and she had enough to occupy her mind between Imoen and periodic assaults from confused assassins.

Around lunchtime Rasaad meandered downstairs, and Jaheira took the opportunity to take some bread and cheese up for Imoen, Khalid and Xan. The monk's face broke into a smile when he saw that Arrow was up. She had curled up in an armchair close to the fire, cocooned in a fuzzy woollen blanket at Jaheira's insistence. Though she remained a little paler than usual, she looked much healthier. She smiled back at him and he walked over to her.

"I hope you can forgive me," he said.

"Forgive you?" Arrow realised she had not even got around to thanking him yet. "You saved my life."

"Had I removed you from the river faster perhaps you would not have become so ill," he insisted.

Arrow shook her head and rolled her eyes fondly. Finding herself enjoying the company of other people was a fairly new experience for her. Children were not exactly welcome in Candlekeep and she and Imoen had been granted permission to stay only reluctantly and at Gorion's insistence. Yet while the other girl seemed able to easily brush off the atmosphere of barely concealed hostility, Arrow had always felt acutely aware of how much some of the monks begrudged their presence. Her natural response to this had been to remove herself from them as much as possible, leaving the castle and their resentful scowls at every opportunity to explore the woods.

Sadly for the ranger, this fear of being disliked was turning into a self-fulfilling prophecy. The more time she spent alone the less social practise she got and the lower her charisma dipped. Though she would be loath to admit it, by the time she left Candlekeep she was far more comfortable exchanging barbs with Montaron than attempting to reciprocate one of Imoen's girly chats. Yet despite her obvious interpersonal deficiencies the monk seemed to actively seek out her company. Not that she was foolish enough to believe it would last. Maybe he only liked her because he had taken one too many blows to the head sparring in the monastery. Or perhaps he felt sorry for her. Yes, that was probably it.

"Don't be silly Rasaad," she smiled. It was a slightly pained smile. In the time it had taken him to cross the room, her train of thought had taken her from being happy to see him to feeling guilty and awkward that the poor man felt obligated to endure her company. "I would have drowned if it wasn't for you. Get us both an ale and come sit with me. Unless Xan needs you to escort him to the market."

There, she had given him an excuse. He could politely leave if he felt like it on the pretext of helping Xan. Yet despite this open invitation to go, the monk did not leave. He did, however, flash her a suspicious half-smile.

"Did Jaheira say it was ok for you to be drinking?" he asked.

"The menu here is limited and I don't fancy the water," said Arrow. "I suspect it comes from the river." The monk shrugged, bowed and strode over to the bar to order drinks. While they were being poured he sprinted upstairs.

Arrow sighed a little to herself. He had no doubt gone to beg Xan to let him take him to the market so that he would not have to sit with her. Well, at least she could congratulate herself on providing him such a considerate escape route. Though it would involve him getting drenched. Yet before he would have had time to speak to anybody, he ran back downstairs carrying a neat parcel. He brought it over to Arrow with her drink and drew up another chair so that he could sit with her.

"I purchased this while I was in town yesterday," he said shyly. "It is for you."

Arrow blinked in surprise and took the package, blushing slightly. Inside was an ordinary leather belt.

"Thank you Rasaad, it's lovely," she said, slightly bemused.

"It is enchanted," the monk explained. "Should you fall into deep water again it will expand with air to prevent you from sinking."

"Oh," said Arrow. "Rasaad that's…" She was touched. The truth was that she was an excellent swimmer when not weighed down by metal armour, but she didn't have the heart to tell him that. In fact, in that moment she could not think of anything to say.

"You don't like it?" the monk sounded disappointed. "Please do not feel obligated to wear it if-"

Arrow leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"I love it," she said quietly.

"I am pleased to hear it," he said as she exchanged her current belt for the one he had given her. "I- that is we _-_ would not wish to lose you."

At that moment the tavern door burst open letting in a gust of cold, soggy air. Three evil-looking women sporting knuckle dusters burst in. They had shaved heads and wore the tunics of monks, but Arrow could tell that these were no Selunites. One of them was carrying a serrated knife smeared with what smelled like acid. Another had dyed her eyeballs black and filed her front teeth into sharp points like those of a demon. They stood in the threshold, dripping and grinning. The demon-like woman dropped to all fours and shook herself like a dog. The commoners at the bar screamed and scattered, fleeing upstairs and out through the kitchens. With a frightened squeak, the barman ducked behind his counter. The leader swept the room with her eyes and pointed to the fireside where the pair were sitting.

"There! Just as Sorrem described. A slave of the hated one!"

Arrow did not have her weapons with her, but she scrambled to her feet and seized an iron poker from its stand by the fire ready to defend herself. Rasaad sprang between her and the assassins.

"If you want Arowan you will have to go through me!" he challenged them.

"We do not know who 'Arowan' is, nor do we care," said the nearest assassin, a tall muscular woman who seemed to be their leader. "We are here for you, monk."

"Our mistress shall be pleased and Sorrem shall have his robe," cackled the one carrying the knife.

"Slay the Sun Soul," their leader ordered, "And kill his little girlfriend for good measure."

"Jaheira!" yelled Arrow, "We're under attack!"

The assassins leapt at them. The leader was a huge woman and much stronger than Rasaad, but he was faster. She rained blows which he was able to dodge, however counter attack was impossible as he also had to weave out of the way of her lackey's knife. Arrow was unable to offer much assistance. The woman with the black eyes and filed teeth had clearly based her combat style on studying planar creatures. She sprang over the tables on all fours, crouching back to avoid the poker, then leaping forward to bite her.

Xan reached the bottom of the stairs first and flung a Flame Arrow at the woman with the dagger. It struck her in the chest and Arrow thought she could hear ribs cracking under the force of the blast. Nevertheless the woman continued to hack at Rasaad, making a successful slash across his back and causing him to grunt with pain. There was a horrible smell like stale vinegar as the knife's acid burned his flesh. The demon-like woman leapt at Arrow next, and grabbed the poker, trying to wrestle it off of her. With a grunt of effort, the ranger spun her around and pushed with all her strength to force her feet back into the fire.

"These strikes… the sinuous manner in which they dodge!" gasped Rasaad. "These are Dark Moon monks. Agents of Shar! They must have tracked me here."

"Do you owe them money or something?" panted Arrow, still trying to wrestle her fanged opponent back into the fireplace.

As Khalid and Jaheira tumbled into the room, the barman grabbed a drinking glass and hurled it at the head of the monk with the sharpened teeth. It shattered harmlessly against the wall by her head, but though it didn't hurt her it was enough to make her jump. Seizing on the distraction, the ranger stopped trying to push the other woman and pulled the poker backward instead. It came loose from her surprised enemy's hands and Arrow swung it back into her face knocking out her two front teeth. She spat them out onto the floor and backed up on all fours, hissing furiously at the poker.

The leader of the Dark Moon party finally landed a blow, squarely on Rasaad's chest sending him stumbling backward, but it was already too late. Jaheira entangled her in magical vines as a second Flame Arrow from Xan took down the woman wielding the knife. Seconds later Khalid's broadsword pierced their leader's heart and Rasaad stood up panting.

The only assassin still fighting was the monk with black eyeballs and sharpened fangs. She sprang cat-like at Arrow, knocking the ranger onto her back. Arrow held her back with the poker as she snapped and clawed at her face. Losing her front teeth, leaving only the canines and a mouth full of foaming blood made the monk seem more otherworldly than ever. Rasaad sent her flying with a swift kick to the midriff. She hit the wall, slumped and did not get up again. He took Arrow's hand and pulled her back to her feet.

"Are you alright?" cried Jaheira.

"Yeah I'm fine," panted Arrow, "But they weren't after me. It was Rasaad they wanted."

"What do they want with you?" the druid asked him. She turned him around bodily so that she could heal the gash on his back.

"They were Dark Moon monks," said Rasaad wincing, "One of the cult's principal goals is the eradication of the Sun Soul monks and all worshippers of Selune. They will not rest until their dark purpose eclipses our efforts. We must stop them."

"Where is Imoen?" asked Arrow, panicking in case a monk had slipped upstairs unnoticed and attacked her.

"Sleeping," said Khalid. "She d- d- didn't much last night. She lost s- so many friends, she is in shock. P- poor girl." Rasaad wasn't listening. He was searching the pockets of the dead assassins for any clues as to their origin but they carried nothing more than a few trinkets and gold coins.

"They mentioned someone called Sorrem," said Arrow.

"Yes!" exclaimed Rasaad. "We must find him at once!"

"Um… excuse me?" interrupted the barman tentatively.

"What is it?" snapped Jaheira impatiently.

"I… I am very sympathetic to your group's difficulties," he began apologetically, "Only, there are a lot of inns in Beregost and we are but a small establishment. The thing is your presence is starting to frighten away my regulars. I was wondering, since your young charge seems much recovered, if perhaps you might consider relocating to an establishment more suited to adventurers? Might I recommend the Jovial Juggler?"

Jaheira nodded resignedly, as she took in the bodies they'd left on the floor. She had been fully expecting to be moved on at some point. Unfortunately, the larger inns tended to charge higher rates, but now that Arrow was on the road to recovery they would not be staying in Beregost for much longer anyway. The lead from Mulahey's letter had proven fruitless. She had sent Xan, armed with a Friends Scroll, to make discrete enquiries when they had first arrived. It turned out that Tranzig, whoever he was, had long gone. According to the laundry maid he'd been frightened away by the most beautiful adventuring party ever to cross the threshold of Feldepost's Inn. They consisted of a very smug looking elf-male accompanied by a glamorous thief and a tall golden warrior who looked like she had stepped straight out of a Skald's wet dream.

"Of course," Jaheira told the barman. "We will collect our belongings and move on just as soon as the last member of our party wakes up. Please take this to settle the bill and… for your trouble."

"Thank you Ma'am," said the barman awkwardly accepting a few gold pieces. "Only the thing is my wife and I are Ilmatari and…"

"I understand," said Arrow quickly. "Rasaad give him the gold you found on their bodies. Will this cover it? I must ask you to leave it a few days to give us time to leave the town."

"Yes, thank you," said the innkeeper, obviously relieved. "I appreciate this, I wouldn't ask if we didn't have the children to think about. As I say we are a small establishment and we would be obligated to pay the temple ourselves to…"

"Shush!" said Arrow desperately but it was too late. Rasaad whipped around like an angry cobra.

"Did he just say 'pay the temple?'" he cried, furiously. "You cannot be serious! Arowan, tell me I did not just give them money to revive my brother's killers?"

"You don't understand," pleaded Arrow. "These people are Ilmatari, like me. They'll be taking the Dark Moon monks for revival either way, but if we don't provide the gold they'll have to pay for it themselves. They can't afford it, you heard him, they have children..."

"I cannot believe this!" the monk said, his face flushing with rage, "I thought of you as my friend!"

"I am your friend Rasaad," Arrow said, biting her lip, "But…"

Rasaad wasn't listening. He ripped the door open so forcefully that it almost came off its hinges and stamped out into the town alone.

"Wait!" Jaheira commanded, "We cannot split the party now it is too dangerous… damn!"

"We need to go after him. I'll wake up Imoen," said Khalid. "Everyone collect your things quickly."

Imoen's earlier words to Rasaad floated through Arrow's mind; _A_ _lr_ _eady she has shot you for no reason and left you bleeding in the wood. How do you think you're going to feel about her after a week?_ Well, here was the answer; angry and fed up with her. The same way everybody felt eventually.

She returned to her room and started to pack. This did not take long, since she had left Candlekeep with very little and Jaheira's louse purge had thinned out her belongings even further. Arrow remembered the belt she had been wearing before she swapped it for Rasaad's gift. It was still lying in front of the fireplace. A Belt of Antipode that Gorion had been wearing when he died. Removing it from the old man's corpse had felt like a morbid thing to do, but they had not been close and at that point her whole focus had been on doing anything necessary to stay alive. She would give the belt to Imoen. Or sell it. Keeping relics of Gorion made her uncomfortable.

Not for the first time it struck her as deeply odd that such a powerful man would have so little by way of weapons or magical items on his person when embarking on what he'd clearly expected to be a dangerous journey. In fact, she remembered him having rings, amulets and an Ioun stone when they'd first left Candlekeep. What had happened to them? His murderer certainly hadn't taken them. The helmed man had just ignored her and walked away… even though it was her he'd been hunting in the first place and not Gorion… The memory was making her head fuzzy and it didn't make any sense. Arrow had a gut feeling that Imoen would know something about this. Maybe now that Gorion's geas was lifted from her, she might have better luck getting the girl to talk.

"Hey Imoen," she said, knocking on her door and pushing it open without waiting for a response. Imoen was sat on the bed crying into Khalid's neck, while he petted her pink hair in a fatherly way. The girl looked up at her and glared in a way that made Arrow suspect that she blamed her on some level for the deaths of her friends. Asking her about Gorion would have to wait. Before backing out Arrow stammered, "Um… this was Gorion's. I'll just leave it here for you, if you want to keep it. Or you could sell it. Whichever you prefer."

She placed the belt on the floor and returned to her room to prise Jaheira's vines off of the window. She was relieved to be rid of any of the old man's former possessions. Arrow had grown up with the knowledge that she was the daughter of Gorion's lover, but not of Gorion himself. As soon as she'd grown old enough to understand the implications of this, she had felt profoundly uncomfortable in his presence. What a terrible burden it must be, to raise the product of his girlfriend cheating on him, especially since he told her that her mother had died giving birth to her.

Except as it turned out, Gorion had been shielding her from a truth that was even worse. Arrow had barely entered her teens when she overheard the conversation. She'd been sneaking into the guardhouse to steal arrows like she always did, when Hull came back early to show a fresh recruit to his bunk. She hid under a bed and overheard Hull telling the new guard all about Gorion and his young ward. That was how she'd discovered that she was a product of rape. Never once did she discuss that awful conversation with Gorion, but her heart had split with guilt whenever she imagined how horrendous it must be for him to have to keep her around. Since that day she had redoubled her efforts to avoid the castle, bending over backwards never to be in the same room as her guardian.

"Come child, it is time to go," said Jaheira, startling her out of her reverie. She pulled on her boots and cloak, raising the hood to shield her from the rain. They took their leave of the innkeeper who looked most relieved to see them go and stepped out into the storm.

It was hard to see more than a few feet in front of them. The wind ripped their hoods from their faces. It was so strong that it was even undoing Jaheira's braids. Water and hair plastered Arrow's face as she stumbled forward. No doubt the monk had headed for the market to ask the locals about this Sorrem but they would still have a job finding him in this.

"Stay together!" bellowed Jaheira over the roar of the rain, "And keep your eyes peeled, this is a perfect opportunity for assassins!"

A flash of bright light lit up the street for an instant, making the cobbles glow like embers. Xan, who was in an exceptionally jumpy mood even by his standards, leapt back in alarm but it was no more than natural lightning. The thunder followed almost immediately. Wherever it was striking, it was close.

They scanned the rooftops and alleys for assassins but the only movement was rainwater gurgling out of the gutters in grimy waterfalls. Unsurprisingly even fewer people had chosen to brave the outside today. Most had closed their doors and windows and were sheltering in their timbered homes. The market itself was almost abandoned. Only the most resilient or desperate merchants were attempting to pedal their wares in this weather. With no sign of Rasaad, the group began combing the streets of Beregost in search of him. Arrow was becoming increasingly frantic. What if he had run into more Dark Moon monks and been killed, all because she had made him run off?

"He'll be ok," called Imoen over the rain, latching onto her arm. She practically had to shout to make herself heard.

"Let's head back to the market!" said Jaheira. "We can ask the stallholders if they've seen him."

They waded back through the flooding streets. The water had reached a depth now where it easily seeped into the shoes of those party members like Xan who were not wearing boots. This was particularly unpleasant since the water running down the streets was a greasy mixture of sewage and dissolved horse manure. The first two merchants they spoke to, a fishmonger and an amulet peddler, looked up hopefully as the party approached but shook their heads resentfully when they realised they did not intend to buy anything.

The third, a red-faced bearded man was wandering from house to house with a tray of clockwork toys, enchanted dolls and candied fruit. He goggled when he saw Arrow coming toward him and stopped what he was doing to shake her hand excitably.

"By Moradin's beard, it's really you!" he gasped, grinning widely and stepping under an overhang with the party to shelter while they talked. Arrow looked at the others and shrugged. "I must admit I'm mightily surprised to see you here! You got the bastard already did you?"

"Got who?" asked Arrow frowning.

"Got who?" laughed the merchant. "Rieltar of course! That Iron Throne nutjob who and almost started a war! I know all about it, my sister is a bodyguard to one of the Grand Dukes. When I left the city Duke Eltan's men were saying the cowardly rat had scuttered off to some backwater called 'Candlekeep'. You must have taken care of him mighty quick to be on the road again already."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arrow said, growing irritated. "I'm trying to find my friend. He's tall, bald, has a lot of tattoos on his face?"

"Is it true that the Iron Throne was taken over by doppelgangers?" the man goggled, "And that you and your friends just went strolling in there and took them all out?"

"What? Look, his name is Rasaad yn Bashir. He's a Sun Soul monk and he's in a really bad mood."

"I heard you've had some epic battles," the man gushed, undeterred. "Even took care of them bandits what was stopping folks like me from using the roads for so long. Pity his grace didn't just go and arrest the whole Iron Throne. They say Eltan didn't have enough evidence but I don't reckon the citizens would have cared. Still you'll get them in the end eh?"

"If the adventures of this party constitute epic battles," sighed Xan dolefully, "Then the entire Sword Coast is utterly doomed."

"Look, have you seen Rasaad or not?" asked Arrow.

"Pardon me ma'am. You must get this all the time, it must be annoying. Thank you for indulging a humble merchant. I can't wait to tell my kids that I met the hero of Baldur's Gate!"

"I have never been to Baldur's Gate!" Arrow snapped.

The man backed away with a mumbled apology, but Arrow grabbed his arm tightly. With her free hand she plucked a piece of parchment from her pack and shoved it into his face.

"Wait a minute," she cried. "I see what's going on here! You think I'm that bloody werewolf, don't you? Just like all those assassins who keep coming after me thinking I'm her! Look at this bounty notice. Look at it! _This_ woman is your 'Hero of Baldur's Gate!' Now tell me, does she look anything like me? Do you see the name 'Arowan' anywhere on this poster?"

"Well… erm… yes!" the frightened man stammered apologetically.

Arrow let go of his arm, seized the parchment with both hands and let out a frustrated screech. The wanted notice had subtly changed. The picture now bore a passing likeness to herself and the letters of the name Freya had uncoiled and rearranged themselves to spell a shaky "Arowan."

"Am I going insane?" she screamed.

The man from Baldur's Gate certainly seemed to think so. Abandoning all pretence, he turned and fled in the opposite direction.

"Oh Arrow," Imoen sighed. "You let the candies get away. I wanted to buy some."

"You always had a gift for talking merchants into raising their prices," observed Jaheira, "But you never went so far as to make one flee from us before. Could it be possible that your charisma is actually dipping lower?"

"Alas," Xan said mournfully, "It seems that Arrow's diplomatic failings with the mercantile classes shall cause us all to starve to death before we fall to our enemies' blades. A crueller, slower end."

Arrow turned on the others. How could they possibly be worrying about their stomachs now?

"It was Freya who attacked the Iron Throne, it must have been! Ok, so I didn't see it. Maybe I was awake at the time, or maybe it clashed with another dream but I just know he was talking about her. You four have been with me this whole time. You know I've never set foot in the city of Baldur's Gate. I mean you do know that… don't you?" she pleaded.

"Arrow," said Imoen soothingly, "When we find Rasaad you and I need to-"

"Here h- he is!" shouted Khalid over the downpour.

Sure enough the monk was walking toward them, looking a little abashed.

"Where have you been?" demanded Jaheira, "We've been out in this storm all afternoon trying to track you down!"

"Forgive me," said the monk, almost too quietly to be heard above the noise of the storm. "I located this Sorrem, and he has told me where the Dark Moon Monks are meeting. When I returned to the inn they told me you had already left, so I helped them to carry the bodies to the temple for revival."

"You- you did?" asked Arrow. Rasaad nodded. At that moment water which had been pooling up in the overhang burst over the edge splashing onto her head and Xan's. This made little difference since they were already about as wet as it was possible to be, but it did tease a small laugh out of Imoen. Arrow's dark wet hair was clinging to her pale face. Rasaad had to fight back a strange impulse to reach out and brush it behind her ears.

"You were right," he said softly. Another lightning flash and roll of thunder prompted Jaheira to start steering the reunited group in the direction of the Jovial Juggler. Rasaad positioned himself upwind of Arrow in a sweet but wholly ineffective attempt to shield her from some of the rain. "The man was only following the rules of his faith by having those Dark Moon monks revived. It is not right that our actions should leave a poor family out of pocket."

Since they were walking behind the others, and the water blowing into their eyes made it hard to see anything, Arrow felt safe to hold his hand without the gesture of friendship being misinterpreted by their companions. His tightened around hers and though they did not say anything else for a while he did not let go until they were in sight of the Jovial Juggler.

"I was aware of some of the philosophies of the Ilmatari from my studies at the monastery," he told her once they were through the threshold and wringing out their cloaks over the door. "But travelling with you is the first time I have seen them put into practise. To show such mercy to your enemies… you put your faith in a demanding god."

Arrow dried her face with the inside of her cloak.

"What about your goddess, Selune? What does she demand?" she asked. Rasaad considered this.

"'Demand' is probably not the right word, but I try to live by the tenets of the Sun Soul monks," he said. "I pray that my light reveals truth in darkness, offers succour to those in need and obeys all just authority."

"Then next time obey _my_ authority and wait when I tell you to!" chided Jaheira. "We half-drowned searching for you!"

"You know, sometimes I think it is your husband who has the most demanding deity out of any of us," Arrow replied dryly. Khalid grinned, and ignoring her protests he scooped the druid into a very wet hug.

"Damn r- right," he said, gazing at his wife adoringly. "This is my g- g- goddess, right here."


	9. The Jovial Juggler

"You want us to bring you _what?_ " Arrow interjected.

"That will do, Arrow," said Jaheira repressively. "I am the party leader. Run along with Khalid and let me handle this."

"Bandit scalps," repeated Officer Vai. "The whole scalp, intact. That's very important."

"You mean like a scalp on your head?" Arrow said, swaying slightly and pointing to her own. Jaheira tried again to shoo her away. Unfortunately, the ranger was better at holding her ground than holding her ale, and she would not be shifted. "Right, so let's just recap. If I am understanding your proposition correctly, you want us to rip off hair and skin from the bandits' dead bodies and bring them to you right here in this tavern?"

"Indeed," replied Vai.

"What are you, some kind of psychopath?" Arrow slurred.

Officer Vai was standing, arms folded over her Flaming Fist insignia glaring at Arowan. Behind her Jaheira was pinching the bridge of her nose while Rasaad and Xan looked on with pained expressions. Fortunately, most of the officer's contingent were lodging elsewhere, but a handful of mercenaries were looking up from their ales with increasingly unfriendly eyes.

"I can tell you are feeling better Arrow," said Jaheira through gritted teeth. "I cannot imagine how our group has managed to cope these last few days without your unique approach to diplomacy."

Khalid gave them a thumbs up from the bar and started up the stairs with Imoen, beckoning the rest of them to follow, but Arrow wasn't finished.

"This creep is hanging around a public house offering gold in exchange for bits of peoples' skins!" she howled in outrage, "I'm sorry, am I the only one here who is not ok with this?"

"This 'creep' happens to be an officer of the Flaming Fist," said Vai curtly, "I realise it's a bloody business but I require this as proof that the bandits have been killed."

"All this proves is that _somebody_ has been killed _,_ " corrected Arrow, jabbing her tankard in the angry officer's face. A wave of beer hit the rim and splashed onto Vai's boots. "But it doesn't prove that the dead somebody was a bandit! Tell me, genius, what's to stop a bandit from killing me, flaying off my scalp, bringing it to you and getting paid for it?"

"If it was _your_ scalp?" retorted Vai. "Y'know, I reckon I'd be ok with that."

"Xan! Rasaad!" Jaheira barked as Officer Vai started to finger the hilt of her sword, "Take Arowan upstairs right now! Use force if necessary!"

Xan wished fervently that he had bought a second Hold Person scroll to use on Arrow before she got them into a full-blown tavern brawl with the Flaming Fist. As it was Rasaad came to the party's rescue. He seized the intoxicated girl and hoisted her bodily over his shoulder. Jaheira nodded approvingly.

"Forgive me Arowan," he said, though Arrow was still hollering at Officer Vai and did not appear to have noticed. "This is for your own good."

"The woman needs locking up!" the ranger howled as Rasaad carried her firmly to the upper floor of the Jovial Juggler. "Bandit scalps! She's either a ghoul or an imbecile! Probably both!"

Rasaad sped up, leaving Jaheira to apologise profusely and offer to buy the mercenaries a round. At the top of the stairs, Imoen was holding a door open and the monk ran through it with Arrow, placing her carefully into a wooden chair. Somehow during the climb, she had managed to cling onto her beer, hardly spilling any. He gently tried to relieve her of it, but her fingers tightened like a vice.

With hindsight letting her drink while Imoen told them about the curse may not have been wise. As soon as they had settled at a table in the Jovial Juggler, Imoen had tried to explain to Arrow and the rest of the party what the deal was with Gorion, the geas and Freya. It was a lot to process and the ranger decided to process it with copious amounts of alcohol. She had just reached the point where Jaheira felt it might be best to get the girl away from the bar, when Officer Vai accosted them with her offer to buy bandit scalps.

Arrow was swaying in her chair now, clutching the beer possessively and eyeing Imoen with a bleary gaze.

"So, we were all invisible to each other?" she asked sceptically in a drunken drawl. "How would that even work? Candlekeep wasn't that big. Wouldn't we be walking into each other all the time?"

"No, no, no! You weren't invisible, it was a memory spell!" said Imoen, exasperated. "You could absolutely see each other, but Gorion made it so that you'd forget the instant you looked away."

Arrow groaned and rocked back in her chair. According to Imoen everything she had ever believed about herself was utterly untrue. Gorion had rescued her along with a dozen other orphans from being sacrificed in a temple of Bhaal by their own mothers. Knowing that Candlekeep would never take in as many as twelve children at once, and certain that the cultists would return for them eventually, he had protected them with a complex series of spells. Chief among them was an enchantment which tricked everybody, including the children themselves, into believing that they were all one person.

"A memory spell? Wasn't that d- dangerous?" asked Khalid.

"Of course! Very!" nodded Imoen.

"Why?" asked Arrow curiously, dropping her chair back onto all four legs.

"Ok," said Imoen. She had a feeling she would need to explain all of this again once Arrow was sober. "Say you are outside with your bow and arrows doing target practise in the yard, yeah? Then Draxle comes along. She looks up and sees you shooting but immediately forgets you exist. You see her walk between you and the target but then _you_ forget that _she_ exists. Then…" she mimed drawing back a bowstring and shooting her. "Gorion created me partly to prevent those kinds of accidents."

"How? According to you there were loads of us, and it's not like you can be everywhere at once."

"Actually in a way I can," said Imoen carefully. "Gorion took a tiny piece from each of your souls and wove them together to make me. I link you together subconsciously."

"He made you. Out of me?" repeated Arrow for the fifth time that evening.

"Yes, you and also Freya and Draxle and Afoxe. All of you. A small piece of your souls lives in me."

This was the part which was creeping Arrow out the most. She leaned over and prodded Imoen with her finger. The girl was warm and squishy and looked very decidedly human. There was nothing, apart from her pink hair, to suggest that there was anything unnatural about her.

"So… so you're not _real?_ " asked Arrow.

"I _AM_ REAL!" the girl screeched.

For some reason Arrow's question seemed to infuriate Imoen. She slammed down her drink and got up, striding across the room. For a moment the others thought she might actually be about to hit Arrow, but then Khalid got up and put a comforting hand on her arm. This gesture seemed to calm her down a bit, but she didn't stop pacing and waving her arms.

"That's what Gorion thought too!" she fumed, "I'm not 'real' so he could treat me however he liked! Putting that strangling curse on me and telling his friends," she waved a hand at Khalid and Jaheira, "That he only had one ward. He never threw me a party like he did for the rest of you, not until Draxle noticed and started insisting!"

Jaheira and Khalid were grimacing. They had been great friends of Gorion and were clearly not comfortable with hearing him talked about in this way. Khalid suggested gently that perhaps he'd had good reasons for what he'd done, while Jaheira pointed out sharply that missing a birthday party was hardly the worst thing that had ever happened to a child. This only enraged Imoen further.

"That's just an example! These things matter to children!" she insisted angrily. "It isn't the party itself, it's the fact that he made it so obvious that he didn't care. He threw a big one for the others, you all had it on the same day every year."

"That's why he always made me have a party!" exclaimed Arrow. They stared at her. "Sorry, it's just, I have so many memories that are different now… Gorion would throw this stupid lavish party for me every year, even though he knew that I hated parties and I always begged him not to. He must have been doing it for the sake of the others."

"You weren't the only one who hated Gorion's parties," sighed Imoen, "Thorg detested them too, but Freya and Draxle loved them and they were his little princesses. I reckon he'd have painted the whole castle pink for the occasion if one of them had asked him to. You all had to go though, otherwise it would have created too many incompatible memories. He kept you apart as much as he could most of the time. Assigned you to different jobs and different tutors. But he couldn't have everyone in Candlekeep buzzing about the party for days afterwards while half his wards had no idea what they were talking about. Even his spells wouldn't have been enough to compensate for that."

"So, either none of us had a party, or all of us did," said Arrow.

"Not _all_ of us," snapped Imoen, "He didn't include me. He could have. It wouldn't have been any extra effort, but he made a point of always leaving me out! It's like he was punishing me for something. He never bothered to hire me tutors like he did for the rest of you, I had to teach myself! You want to know why I'm a lousy thief? That's why! I didn't even want to be a thief, I wanted to be a mage, but according to Gorion fake-people aren't worth educating. Unless he wanted me to do something he didn't even respond when I spoke to him. Not unless one of you lot was there watching."

"I had no idea Imoen. I'm sorry," said Arrow quietly.

Khalid exchanged a look with his wife. He was fiddling with his sword like he always did when he was feeling anxious or guilty about something, and he seemed profoundly uncomfortable. When Imoen mentioned that she felt like Gorion was 'punishing' her, he opened his mouth as if to say something, but Jaheira shook her head a fraction and he shut it again.

"You say the two of you weren't that close? Well if that's true you were the only one!" Imoen ranted on. The others got the impression that she had wanted to get this off her chest for a long time. "He was 'Daddy' to all the rest of you, and he loved you like you were his own kids. But not me! Oh no! I was just a spell, this… this thing he made. I didn't matter because I wasn't _real._ "

She stopped striding up and down the room and sat down abruptly, putting her face in her hands.

"Well I do have a soul," she cried defiantly, "Even if it's only a patchwork one. I was real, and it hurt!"

She started to cry again. Arrow was a very awkward hugger, so she was relieved when Khalid got there first. He crouched by the chair and Imoen buried her head into his chest and sobbed.

"Wh- what you have to understand about that is-" he began gently.

"It's getting late," said Jaheira abruptly, cutting him off. "Time for bed."

She and Arrow led Imoen back to their room and the druid left them alone. The ranger hovered awkwardly, not sure what to do or say. She still had so many questions. There was a lot about this that she still did not understand, nevertheless she shared some of Imoen's anger toward Gorion. She understood why he had not been able to make her real origins public. A child who might act as a magnet for disgruntled Bhaal cultists would be unlikely to be welcome in Candlekeep or anywhere else. Yet he could have made up any story to explain her… their… origins. Why would he go around telling people that her mother was his lover, that she had been assaulted and then died giving birth to her? The idea had plagued her for years. It was so cruel. Why not just say he had found her in a basket on his doorstep?

"Gorion was… Gorion was…" Arrow mumbled. Tiredness and beer were making her lose her train of thought. "Gorion was a jerk. You shouldn't worry what he thought. He chopped up kids' souls to make a chimera. Who does that?"

"Well, like I said, that was partly so that you wouldn't accidentally hurt each other. You can't intentionally injure each other either. Not even if you wanted to. Gorion seemed to think that some of you might decide to kill each other when you came of age, if you ever became fully aware of each other's existence. I don't know why he thought that was likely, but your souls are tied now so you can't. I don't totally understand how it works. I didn't know about the dreams."

"Did Gorion?" asked Arrow.

"Probably," said Imoen. "I guess it depends if all of you have them. If you did I assume one of you would have told him about them. After all, I was the only one under a geas. The rest of you could talk about whatever you liked." She scowled again. Arrow hadn't meant to bring up another sore point and hastily changed the subject away from Gorion.

"So, you're saying that while I'm having these dreams about Freya's life, somewhere out there she might be dreaming scenes from mine?" asked Arrow. She did not mention Eric. From the moment she had discovered her dreams involved real people she had been trying not to think about him. It was too disturbing.

"Could be," Imoen shrugged.

They changed out of their clothes and settled under the blankets. Arrow noticed that Imoen had taken to lifting a candle to new bedsheets and inspecting them carefully before allowing them to touch her. Apparently she had learnt a valuable life lesson from Mulahey's lice.

"I wish he hadn't done it," sighed Arrow. Imoen looked stricken. "Stopped us from knowing about each other I mean," she corrected herself hastily, "I don't mean I wish he hadn't made you!"

"It worked though didn't it?" said Imoen fairly. "Think about it. The assassin who came for you only managed to kill one ward when he took out Gorion. I was watching from the cliffs, but I was too far away to help. Without the memory charm he would have butchered you all."

"He didn't even try to attack me," Arrow remembered. "I was shooting at him the whole time, but he just ignored me, like I wasn't even there."

"You were all too weak to hurt him," Imoen replied. "If your shots had pierced him it would have broken the charm, at least temporarily. He wouldn't have just stood there and let you kill him. But as it was, they didn't, so the memory spell held and he just forgot each arrow as it bounced off him. He forgot the other wards, like Freya, who did what Gorion told them and ran. Then the rest of you salvaged what you could from his body."

"I thought it was so weird that all he'd brought with him was a ring and that belt. I guess the others took the rest of his stuff," mused Arrow. Despite what Imoen said, she privately thought that making Imoen to protect them had not worked particularly well. After all, all but three of them had died within weeks of leaving Candlekeep. Something about it felt wrong. Lopping off pieces of someone's soul was a very odd way to go about protecting them. Then another thought struck her. "Who was it? You said he killed one of us. Who?" A look of pain flashed over Imoen's face and she started to tear up again.

"Didn't you dream about it? I thought you had nightmares about all their deaths?" she asked.

"I think only if I'm asleep when it actually happens," answered Arrow.

"His name is… was… Afoxe," Imoen sniffed. "A six foot paladin-initiate in full plate mail. Hull used to say he was built like a brick privy. Difficult sort of bloke to ignore. He went straight for Gorion's murderer with his broad sword. Of course, the man had just killed Gorion, compared to that Afoxe was easy meat. He struck his head off with one blow. Then his body just sort of disintegrated."

"I… I'm sorry," said Arrow. She had paid little attention to the bodies surrounding Gorion but Imoen was right, the people in her dreams always turned to dust when they died. That explained why none of them ever came back once they'd been killed. There were no bodies to take to the temple for revival. Presumably this applied to her too. She would have to be careful.

Arrow could not remember ever dreaming about anyone fitting poor Afoxe's description. His first taste of real battle must have been his last. It was a surreal idea. All those years she had been living in parallel with a boy she had never met, and now she never would.

Footsteps were shuffling outside their door accompanied by angry whispers. Khalid and Jaheira were having an argument. That in itself was unusual, normally the fighter simply acquiesced to whatever his wife said. Sitting up on the bed across from her, Imoen was also straining to catch their words, but all that she could make out was that they were disagreeing over whether or not to tell the girls something. Arrow shook her drunken head. Probably something to do with their secret society. Maybe since they were Harpers and they were friends with Gorion, he might have been one too. She didn't really care.

Before she blew out the candle she showed the bounty notice to Imoen. It had tried to change back to Freya's face and name, but the magic seemed to have confused it, and got it stuck half way between the two. The picture was now an unattractive mismatch of Freya and Arrow's features with the letters of their names blended into an illegible jumble.

"It looks like Gorion's spells are weakening," Arrow observed. "Maybe now that he's dead, and we are spread out so far from Candlekeep."

"They were meant to last a lot longer than this," replied Imoen thoughtfully. "If you had all gone into hiding with the Harpers like Gorion wanted it would have been a very long time before your attackers realised that there was more than one of you. Freya must have smacked the hornet's nest big time to break Gorion's charm and draw the Iron Throne's attention. I reckon she'll be pissed off enough to do that though. Freya was a real Daddy's girl. She and Gorion adored each other. If I know her at all, she'll hunt his killers to the Nine Hells and back."

She reached over and snuffed out the candle, but Arrow had one last question.

"Why did you follow me?" she asked. "When you had twelve wards to choose from?"

"Seven," corrected Imoen. "Only seven. Some of you died in childhood. Afoxe had just been killed and Eric left Candlekeep months before to apprentice with some red wizard in Thay. Gorion begged him not to go but, Eric being Eric, he wouldn't be told." She sighed. "Ironically they ended up having a big fight about it and Gorion actually threw him out. Maybe he was right to go after all. Only three of you are still breathing and he's one of them."

Arrow said nothing. Given Imoen's devastation at the deaths of her other childhood companions, she had decided to spare her the full details of Eric's current predicament for the time being. It didn't look as though the young man had ever made it as far as Thay, or if he had his apprenticeship there had been brief. Now he was a prisoner, confined to fighting pits and forced to entertain his evil patrons in ways that turned her stomach to think about.

"Freya ran when her Dad told her to," Imoen continued, "She'll be beating herself up about that. So did Draxle and a couple of the others. I tried to find them afterwards, but I couldn't. When I got back from looking for them only you and Thorg were still hanging around and you said yes, and he said no so… you got to keep me! Yay!"

Arrow nodded in the dark. That figured. Imoen was travelling with her because there was nobody else available. Obviously, she wouldn't have been her first choice. It wasn't like they were really that close in Candlekeep.

"Can we find Freya?" asked Imoen hopefully. "Use your dreams to figure out where she is?"

"I suppose so," said Arrow, unenthusiastically. "She'll probably be in Candlekeep or Baldur's Gate."

The ranger stared into the black rafters listening to the sound of trade carts outside and the squeaks and scuffles of rodents. She didn't like Beregost much, and she imagined Baldur's Gate would be much the same only bigger, smellier and even more crowded. On the other hand, anything seemed preferable to returning to Candlekeep. She didn't feel like taking either path though. Perhaps she was being selfish, but she was just starting to carve herself out a place in the world with her little group. She was not sure that she fancied being supplanted by a sexier, stronger, more heroic version of herself.

Of course, her situation could be a lot worse. Perhaps to remind her not to be ungrateful, that night the gods sent her a dream about Eric.

Mercifully it was only the pits this time and not that dreadful brothel corridor with the strange smells. The drow had pitched him against a giant troll. Over and over Eric slayed it but it wouldn't stay dead. It kept regenerating, getting up and charging after him again. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she got the impression that Eric was toying with it by intentionally letting it heal to prolong the entertainment for the punters. His odds were certainly better now. According to the chalk board they were taking bets at two to one in his favour. Arrow suspected they were only going to get higher. Finally, the boy put the wretched creature out of its misery, by roasting it whole in a great ball of fire.

"That was a bit dull, they liked the mushrooms better," the voice of Eric's advisor sailed up from the pits. Arrow now recognised that voice as belonging to the courtesan, Bubbles. She scanned the audience for the Hooded Man. With a rush of adrenaline, she saw him seated in a private booth near the drow entertainer. With the match over, he got up and handed a hefty looking purse to the drow, whispering something in his ear. Eric had seen him too. His already pale face turned deathly white and he backed away a few steps.

A bird was singing. Arrow woke up to pale pre-dawn light creeping under her window. Although she had a splitting headache she got up, crept downstairs and helped herself to a glass of water at the bar. It would be a few hours before she actually needed to wake up but there was no way she would risk going back to sleep again. Not if Eric was about to have another session with that nightmare wizard. She vividly recalled the pain from the last time the Hooded Man had cut into Eric's mind, and since there was nothing she could do to help, she would stay awake until it was over so as not to share the experience.


	10. A Fork in the Road

"Good morning," said Rasaad.

"Is it?" moaned Arrow. She was sat at a table in the corner of the bar with her chin rested on the edge of an oak table. Her dark hair pooled in rings on the wood, and she peered balefully up at him.

Even in this hungover state she still looked nice, with her large brown eyes and scattering of freckles across her nose.

_No. Look away. Breathe in, counting slowly, and out on six. Better._

The old masters were right, these things became much easier to handle with age. Just a few years ago, though he had excelled in all other aspects of monastic life, this issue had caused him some difficulty. It seemed to him that being plagued by inappropriate thoughts about women would drive him insane. Much to his relief he had now grown out of that stage of his development. He had his feelings under perfect control. Besides it would be disrespectful to think that way about his friend. He refocussed his mind and sat down beside her while they waited for the others.

Arrow also felt a little flutter in her tummy when she saw Rasaad. She told herself that this was a side-effect from drinking too much the night before, but she suddenly felt very self-conscious about her messy hair and hangover breath. She shouldn't let herself get into this state. With a personality as unappealing as hers she really couldn't afford to look and smell like she'd crawled out of a privy pit too. Poor Rasaad. He would be disgusted if he thought that she had looked at him that way even if it was only briefly, and that thought alone was more effective than any number of cold showers.

"You are up early," he observed.

"Not by choice," she said. She told him about Eric, the Hooded Man and the torture she had experienced with them previously. He listened intently. "Don't tell Imoen. I mean she'll have to know some time, but she's not doing so good right now. I don't want to make it worse."

He nodded, though his expression told her that he wasn't entirely convinced that this was the right course. A few other patrons were filing downstairs now. Some of them were scowling at her. An unpleasant memory of yelling at a Flaming Fist officer swam into her mind and she cringed.

"You mentioned you found Sorrem," she said in a low voice.

"Yes I… uh oh."

The others had come downstairs but Xan and Jaheira were being accosted by Officer Vai. Rasaad and Arrow got up and joined the conversation, nervous in case the soldiers were seeking retribution for her insults the night before.

"Oh, and you're here too," said Vai frostily, glaring down her nose at Arrow. "Aww, bless. Don't you look the worse for wear? Men! Looks like our little ranger has a headache! Let's see what we can do about that shall we?"

The Flaming Fist contingent, with sneering glances at Arrow, began singing raucously and banging their breakfast spoons on the tables. It was a hideous thing to do to someone with a hangover. Arrow winced as though each bang were driving a fresh nail through her skull.

"That will do lads," the officer relented finally. She turned her attention back to Xan. "As I was saying, we think we've found your drow. The nasty thing was spotted by some farmers lurking around in the hedgerows outside Beregost. Might be it's waiting for you, but we have men combing the area. Don't you worry. We'll flush it out and dispose of it."

"Silver and black, a rare type of scalp to add to your collection," muttered Arrow, remembering what it was about this woman that had riled her up so much in the first place. "Tell me, do you have a special display cabinet, or do you just line them up over the mantlepiece?"

"F- for Elminster's sake Arrow!" stammered Khalid. "Let it d- drop!"

"Just making conversation," said the ranger pleasantly. Under Jaheira's intense glare, Khalid and Rasaad linked arms around Arrow's waist and steered her forcefully outside. "Alright, alright, you don't have to drag me I can walk!"

The storm of the previous day had past but continuous drizzle gave no opportunity for the streets to dry. A pungent slurry of emptied chamber pots and animal waste oozed along the cobbles. Arrow found that the fresh air and cool mist were helping with her headache. Imoen came to join them.

"Hey Khalid," she smiled.

"H- hey yourself. Are you f- feeling any better?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks," she said. "Its been a rough couple of days you know?" The pink haired girl tried to sound bright and cheerful. Khalid smiled at her encouragingly.

"So w- what did Sorrem have to say?" he asked, turning to Rasaad. He had stuck his helmet under his arm and the rain was starting to flatten his red hair. It made him look a lot younger, and Rasaad idly tried to guess at his actual age. He knew he'd been married for ten years and a Harper before that which at a minimum would place he and Jaheira in their thirties. Maybe early forties. Though when his wife stepped out of the inn, fixing a death glare on Arowan, the years seemed to lift off him and he grinned like a teenager. Each to their own.

"I swear one more incident like that and I am going to gag you!" the older woman fumed at Arrow. "Officer Vai was trying to help us you know! They're trying to catch that drow woman, you know, the one who came here to murder you!"

"Well, strictly speaking she came here to murder Freya not me," mumbled Arrow.

"W- we can discuss Arrow's lack of s- s- social skills later," said Khalid quickly, as his wife swelled like a pufferfish. "Our ward isn't the only one being tailed by assassins. Rasaad, t- tell us about Sorrem."

They shuffled out of the way of the door. Jaheira reached up and flicked a damp lock of ginger hair out of Khalid's face. Despite the rain, Xan seemed to have perked up a little knowing that the drow who had attacked him was out of town and being seen to by the militia. Imoen, on the other hand, seemed to have lost her good mood and was looking sulky again.

"Sorrem was not difficult to find," began Rasaad in a soft, low tone, "He is local here and apparently not popular. Finding someone willing to point out his house was a simple matter. When I arrived he apologised for turning me in to the Dark Moon sect and begged me to spare his life. He has given me the location of their safehouse. They meet there at night after sundown."

"Hmm," said Arrow, tapping her chin with her forefinger. "I wonder if this could maybe, possibly, just conceivably turn out to be a trap?"

"I am certain of it," replied Rasaad, completely missing her inflection. "However, I still need to track down these monks and the safehouse is where they will be tonight. Tricking me into facing them was unnecessary since I seek such a confrontation."

"We will stand by you, of course," said Jaheira. The monk nodded gratefully. "In the meantime we must prepare to move on."

"Where are we headed?" asked Arrow.

"Baldur's Gate of course!" exclaimed Imoen as though this were obvious. Her friend groaned audibly. At least it was a good long way away. They would not have to deal with the city or its new hero for several days, even assuming that they did not run into any delays along the way.

The druid neither confirmed nor denied this and Arrow got the impression that she hadn't actually made up her mind where to go. She and Khalid had been tasked with investigating the iron shortage, only with the exception of the Nashkel mines Freya had beaten them to every lead they had. On the other hand they could not simply hang around the town indefinitely without employment.

"How much gold do we have left?" asked Xan.

"Very little," Jaheira answered. "Having to replace our louse-ridden laundry and renting tavern rooms for so long while Arrow recovered has set us back quite a bit. Khalid is having new plate mail fitted at the armourer to replace the piece we lost in the river, that cost a fair amount too. Are there any amulets or magical equipment worth buying?"

"Not in our price range I suspect," the elf replied sorrowfully. "We will have to face our enemies under equipped. No doubt our lack of protection will seal our fates."

"In that case I thought we might upgrade Arrow's bow," said Jaheira.

Arrow blinked in surprise. Certainly, her bow could use an upgrade. It was a standard-issue guard bow stolen for her by Imoen from the armoury in Candlekeep. Once Gorion had offered to buy her a nicer one, but her relationship with her guardian was so strained on her side that she'd declined and excused herself from the conversation before she'd had chance to register what he was saying.

"Increasing her firepower will certainly doom us all," cried Xan. "She shoots us as often as she shoots our enemies."

"I'm standing right here," Arrow reminded the gloomy wizard.

"Standing in sight of Thunderhammer Smithy in fact," remarked Jaheira, pointing. "Let's move."

The dwarves of the smithy recognized Khalid immediately and one of them went to fetch him his new plate. Another came over and began measuring him again, being rather handsy in the process.

"Oooh you should have let me sculpt your muscles into the plate," she cooed through her thick, ruby beard. "A figure like yours deserves to be shown off, even when dressed, yes?"

"P- plain plate is fine," mumbled the warrior, embarrassed. "Besides who would n- notice my m- m- muscles next to Rasaad's?" Jaheira opened her mouth to correct this but Imoen got there first.

"You can overdo it with heavy muscles," Imoen assured him, "Most girls like normal sized men with just a bit of extra, like you!"

'Most women' clearly did not include the dwarf armourer, who took one look at Rasaad and forgot Khalid's new plate, dropping it with a clang on the smithy floor. The half-elf had to jump back sharply to avoid the thin edge breaking his toes. She was now running her rough palms delightedly over the monk on the pretext for sizing him up for new chainmail, despite his protestations that he didn't wear any. He looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Just out of interest, how would you react if one of your male co-workers did that to me?" Arrow asked the woman casually as she stroked a tape measure over his left bicep. The flame haired dwarf whipped around crossly, but Khalid risked a very small smile. Their party leader, however, was unimpressed.

"This is the last straw Arowan!" Jaheira snapped, "Xan, put a silencing spell on the ranger! Your self-righteous preaching is costing this group a fortune. Between my having to buy rounds to placate angry soldiers and Rasaad reviving people who only died in the first place because they were trying to kill us, it's a wonder we can even afford to visit a smithy. I am not squandering our last few coins because you feel like insulting these blacksmiths into raising their prices!"

"You know... 'Arowan' did she say your name was...? You're another one who could use some sculpted armour," observed the dwarf spitefully. "I bet you get mistaken for a little boy a lot. I could bash out your leathers in the right places, add a bit of padding here and there. You could pretend you have breasts. How about it? "

Arrow opened her mouth to give her opinions on sculpting comedy breasts into suits of armour but no sound came out. Xan's silencing spell had done its work. The red-headed dwarf got the gist however.

"I would offer to throw in one of our fine weapons, shoved free of charge up your nether regions," she growled, "But seems to me you have a stick wedged pretty tightly up your arse already. Bah! I'm done. Taerom can deal with you!"

She stormed away, long red plaits trailing behind her. Moments later a harassed looking man covered in fire soot stomped in from one of the back rooms. He took off a pair of very thick gloves and looked from Khalid to the armour on the floor and back again.

"Ah," he said, "I must apologise for Margoff, she has a thing for big men. If it were in my power to let her go… unfortunately her father is my landlord so…" he shrugged helplessly. Whatever Arrow's response it mercifully went unheard, and the dwarf began assembling the plate on Khalid, asking him to take out his broadsword and try different strokes. Every so often he would have him pause while he made small adjustments with a pair of pliers. When he had finished it was clear that this new armour was a step up from the old kit. Though superficially similar it was better crafted allowing the half-elf more freedom of movement.

Without a voice, Arrow meandered around the smithy looking at bows. Some of the weapons were clearly enchanted and far beyond her price range but a weathered longbow with a composite stave caught her eye. It was superior to a regular bow but had clearly seen better days and the price was discounted. She picked it up, examined it and gave the string an experimental twang.

"Ah!" Taerom Thunderhammer exclaimed, hurrying over. "You have an excellent eye for a bargain. Take a test shot! Go on!"

He handed her an arrow and she grasped the bow in one hand, drawing back with the other. The problem was that there was nowhere safe to aim. Leathers and shiny new armour hung from every wall. Perfectly polished new swords without a scratch on them were lined up in racks and shields were suspended precariously from the rafters. Even the doors were hung with bucklers and who knew the consequences if she shot one of the barrels. Dwarves had a reputation for being protective of their beer.

"We can test out the new armour and the new bow at the same time!" Thunderhammer enthused. "Go ahead! Shoot him, aim for the armour! I bet it won't leave so much as a dent! Wound him through the armour and I'll give it to you for free."

"I'm n- not sure," Khalid began, but Arrow had already fired. It was excellent armour. High quality steel and skilfully constructed. Had Khalid held still and let the arrow hit his chest, no doubt Thunderhammer would have won his wager. Unfortunately the fighter flinched at the sight of the approaching projectile and it buried itself into his elbow. Khalid was sufficiently accustomed to battle wounds not to actually scream but he let out a shrill yell as it ripped through the joint, emerging the other side.

"I told you so," sighed Xan.

Although she was still muted Arrow mimed the word 'sorry' over and over again. Imoen knelt down next to him, examining the arrow tenderly before attempting to gently ease it out. Khalid yelped.

"Out of the way girl, I will deal with it," said Jaheira brusquely. She grabbed the shaft and yanked back with all her strength. This time Khalid really did scream and blood erupted over the floor of the smithy, turning his armour a shining red like Margoff's beard. Jaheira muttered a hasty healing spell and the wound closed. Khalid flexed his arm, wincing and stood back up.

Arrow was still holding the bow and looking very sheepish. Jaheira handed over the last of their gold for it and the armour. They trooped out, with her grumbling that at least it proved that the weapon was effective.

It was still spitting outside and with no more gold they had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Imoen suggested that Rasaad and Xan could do a sort of improvised show of tumbling and magic tricks to earn them a few coins to buy lunch, but the wizard had promptly crushed this idea. According to him dignity was more important than a full stomach, a sentiment with which Imoen thoroughly disagreed.

Once the silencing spell had been lifted Arrow, who was eager to try out her new weapon suggested that she could hunt them something to eat. To Xan and Rasaad this seemed like a reasonable proposition, though it met with sneers and much eyerolling from the rest of the party who had been travelling with her for longer.

Still, there were hours to kill until the gathering of the Dark Moon cult with nothing better to do. If nothing else the canopy of the woods provided a little protection from the rain. Arrow set out alone, having promised repeatedly to keep an eye out for the drow and not to shoot anything without checking to see what it was first. The others milled around the fringes of the wood.

Xan tried to track some honey bees back to their hive, taking Imoen with him as he refused to go anywhere alone until the drow was caught. The odds of running into her again were low, and he was better prepared this time, but her threat to tie him up and take his clothes off was still giving him cold sweats. Jaheira set off to replenish her stock of herbs, taking Khalid with her. Rasaad, who despite being slightly naive was not an idiot, suspected that this may be an excuse to get her husband alone. On the pretext of finding a secluded spot to meditate, he took his leave of them and ventured deeper into the woods.

This carried some risk. Though this Freya person had apparently taken care of the bandit problem, these woods were still inhabited by wolves and goblins and of course there was a trigger-happy ranger on the loose. He peeled back his shirt to inspect the small round scar where she had shot him. It looked like it was going to wind up being permanent. He didn't really mind. Of all the scars he carried this was the only one associated with pleasant memories. He walked on for a long time, looping around so that he would not end up too far from the town. Damp leaves stuck to his shoes and a pleasant smell of ferns and earth filled the air.

"You walk so loudly I reckon you've cleared this forest of game for at least a half-mile radius," came a teasing voice from behind him. For a moment he thought that the drow might have caught up with them but it was only his ranger. She sat down on a fallen log. It was mossy and dampness from the wood seeped into her tunic but she was fairly used to that. She gestured to him to sit with her.

"You won't catch many deer that way," he teased, standing over her with his arms folded.

"The others will be expecting that, trust me," she sighed. "If I do catch anything it will be from the snares."

"They have mentioned your lack of hunting success. If you don't mind my saying so I find it a little strange. I have seen you in battle and you are an excellent shot. If anything, a little too good," he massaged his arrow-scarred shoulder again. "If you can hit a scrawny kobold across a lake in near total darkness, why would a defenceless deer pose a problem?"

Arrow looked a bit embarrassed. The monk sat down on the log beside her. It cracked a little under his weight, sending an exodus of bugs scuttling out from under it in all directions.

"Ok, promise you won't tell the others," she muttered. He nodded. "I don't like hunting. I know, that's not ideal for a ranger. I'm ok with the snares because I can't see the animal when I'm setting it up, and obviously by the time I go back to check them, anything I've caught is already dead. It's different when there's an actual deer in front of me, or a duck or a boar… I keep getting cold feet and missing on purpose."

She looked at her hands, feeling a bit silly and wondering why she was telling him this. "I start thinking things like what if it has babies somewhere? Or a mate to mourn it? Or little ducky friends? That's why I didn't look before I shot you when we first met. We badly needed the food and I knew if I looked at the animal, whatever it was, I'd just end up feeling sorry for it and letting it go."

Rasaad was about to suggest that she consider joining the Sun Soul order herself. Her attitude would be considered quite commendable from a Selunite perspective, but he stopped short. It suddenly struck him that were she to become a monk, they would tattoo over her freckles and shave away all her hair. He liked her hair; dark and a little bit feral. Just like Arrow. To derail this ridiculous train of thought he decided to ask her about her faith.

"You are very devoted to Ilmater are you not?" he asked her. She nodded. "May I ask how you came to be so? As I understand it they are not a resident order at Candlekeep."

"True, but we had a lot of visitors from various temples and monasteries," replied Arrow. She paused and giggled a little. "A whole procession of Helmite knights from the Order of the Radiant Heart came from Amn once just to bring a book… but… that's Imoen's favourite anecdote. I'll let her tell you that one."

"I assume the tale is quite offensive?" he smiled.

"Yeah. Little bit."

"I have heard some of Imoen's stories already," Rasaad said, "For a person forged out of the souls of children, she is surprisingly lacking in innocence. It was your story I wanted to hear though."

A woodlouse in its grey armour scuttled onto her hand from the log. She let it run around her fingers waving its funny antennae before setting the tiny creature down again. There were all kinds of things scuttling around this log and increasingly around her. If only they ate bugs, she could bring them back a mighty feast.

"Well ok, but it isn't very interesting," she said, "We'd get all this news about sad things happening outside the castle and I had these really realistic dreams… well I suppose they were real not realistic but I didn't know that at the time… Horrible things would happen and I'd just have to listen, there'd be nothing I could do. The other faiths I had come across were very focussed on being the best version of yourself you could be; heroic, brave, strong in battle and that sort of thing. That always seemed like a bit of a lost cause in my case," she laughed, "But I thought perhaps I might be able to help other people. So I chose Ilmater."

"You say you found the other faiths you were exposed to were not focussed on helping others, and yet there were two Selunite monks in Candlekeep," he pointed out. There was just a hint of offense taken in his tone.

"The rituals of the Moon Maiden involve a lot of meditation and self-reflection," said Arrow, slightly apologetically. "I guess I'm more of a doer. Why, are you about to try to persuade me to convert?"

Much though she liked Rasaad she was not interested in changing faiths. Ilmater had got her through quite a bit so far and she did not plan to trade her crippled god in for the more glamorous Lady of Silver. No matter how much personal appeal her followers might have.

"Additional self-reflection may not be beneficial in your case," mused Rasaad. She looked at him questioningly. "I have noticed that you tend to be rather self-critical. You mask it with humour, but I believe that you are not always joking even when you say you are."

"Maybe," said Arrow, not sure how to respond to that. "We should head back and check the snares." After they had been walking for a while she added, "It was the Ilmatari who suggested that I become a ranger."

"Not a cleric?" he asked. This was really at the root of what he had been wondering. In her own way Arowan was as devoted to her faith as he was to his own. He would have thought such an attitude would mark someone for a religious occupation by default. Arrow, on the other hand, seemed to find that idea quite amusing.

"Being a cleric involves a lot of reading and talking and being persuasive with people," she grinned. "Trust me, I'm not cut out for it, but the Ilmatari pilgrims showed me how much good someone like me might be able to do in the right job. A dedicated ranger can make a huge difference to their village."

They reached the first snare. Much to Arrow's surprise, she had actually succeeded in catching a fat buck-rabbit. She collected it and dismantled the snare while the monk watched her thoughtfully. The ranger scooped up the rabbit and stood, brushing damp leaves from her knees.

"This is where you see yourself settling then, when all this is over? As a village ranger?" he asked.

"I'd like that," she smiled, "What about you?"

"I will return to the monastery I suppose," said Rasaad with a shrug.

"You've never thought of taking another path?" she asked. "Hey, another rabbit!"

"Of course not. Why would I?" he asked quickly.

"You didn't sound very sure," said Arrow, half of her attention on the second rabbit. "And you kind of ended up a monk by accident. I mean you were just a kid when you entered the monastery."

Rasaad didn't reply. Ever since the monastery had taken him in, becoming the best Sun Soul monk he could be had been the whole focus of his life. Yet, there was part of him that knew monastic life would mean no wife or children. Gamaz had never seemed the least bit concerned about this and he wished he had his brother's strength of conviction. He himself had waivered from time to time.

He was saved from having to answer this question by Arrow's shocked delight at having obtained a third rabbit. She seized his hand and practically dragged him out of the wood, so excited was she to have provided the group with a reasonable meal. Her energy was infectious and he found himself racing her. He won easily, and had to hold himself back a little in order to avoid losing her in the trees. They emerged at the edge of the woods laughing and out of breath, earning them a raised eyebrow from Jaheira. Rasaad actually thought this a little hypocritical, given that the druid had returned with grass stains all down her back.

Despite the evidence presented by the copious amount of fallen leaves caught in Khalid's ginger hair, suggesting that dinner may not have been their top priority, the half elves had managed to find enough dry wood to build a small fire. Xan lit it with magical flame while they skinned and chopped the rabbits. The wizard had failed to obtain any honey, but he and Imoen had returned with armfuls of wild mushrooms. Once Jaheira had inspected them and discarded all the poisonous ones, these were added to the pan with the rabbits.

It was a small meal but enough to provide them some energy for the evening ahead. As darkness fell they returned to Beregost, to the safehouse that Sorrem had described. Rasaad was not at all surprised to see the slimy man waiting for them outside and pointed him out to the others.

"When you didn't show up last night I thought you wasn't coming. Almost given up on you I had," grumbled Sorrem when he saw Rasaad. "And you've brought friends too? Well the more the merrier. Since you've been so good about not killing me I brought you a little present. The keys to this building."

Arrow exchanged a glance with Rasaad and rolled her eyes when Sorrem wasn't looking. It was so transparently an ambush that Khalid had already drawn his broadsword while Jaheira transformed into a shaggy brown bear. Frankly she was in no mood for this game. Mercifully her headache from the night before had long subsided but lack of sleep was starting to make her fatigued. She wanted to get this over with quickly and set up camp.

They stepped into the house. It was very dark, with only a few flickering candles to see by. Peering to the edges of the room, Rasaad thought he detected something humanoid moving about on all fours. He frowned. If it was the same fanged assassin from the Inn, then the temple had ignored his request to leave it a few days before reviving them. That, or their Dark Moon friends had paid the temple a visit to encourage the healers to speed the process up.

He glanced sideways at Arrow who was also watching the shadows with a determined grimace. He was finding the persistent, some might say excessive, kindness she showed to her enemies attractive and irritating in equal measure. It had never occurred to him that such an apparently benign philosophy as that of the Ilmatari could make adherents so difficult to live with.

"In fact, tonight is all about me bringing presents for me best pals. Hey boys! Here are those friends I told you about. Come on out and say hello."

"An ambush? Sorrem you betrayed us! How could you? We never saw it coming and I am shocked. Shocked and saddened," Arrow cried in mock-despair. Her sarcasm was not lost on the man and he scowled at her as his friends stepped out of the shadows. Jaheira growled at her too. It was amazing how clearly the druid was able to translate the words 'Shut up Arrow' into fluent bear.

"You have done well Sorrem. Your admission into the order is assured," barked a woman from the shadows. She stepped into the candle light and just as Rasaad had supposed, it was the huge muscular monk from the inn. Her recent brush with death did not seem to have left her with any visible wounds, nor it would seem any gratitude.

"We are not reviving them this time," Rasaad said firmly to Arrow under his breath. "If we kill them, they stay dead."

"No, of course not," she agreed, "We don't have enough gold. So try to just knock them out rather than killing them if you can."

Rasaad stared at her, distracted by this suggestion. It was hard to make out her expression in the dark. He could not tell whether or not his friend was joking. Either way it did not look as though the Dark Moon cultists meant to give them much choice in the matter. They advanced on the party, smiling maliciously. Once again he found himself locked in an exchange of blows with their leader.

A flash of orange light flew past his head, telling him that Arrow was using the last of her fire arrows scavenged from the Nashkel kobolds. Each one temporarily lit up the room like a flare. In the light the Dark Moon monks were far less intimidating. They looked drawn and strained, and some were very thin. The light flickered from Khalid's new armour as he swung his sword over and over, scattering cultists. Xan, who was not minded to engage in melee combat with trained martial artists unless absolutely necessary backed them up with Flame Arrows.

To Rasaad's surprise Imoen was also hurling magical projectiles. The girl had told them how she had really wanted to be a wizard rather than a thief but Gorion had not deemed an artificial person worth teaching. Xan must have given her his Wand of Magic Missiles to cheer her up. It was a thoughtful thing to do. He would mention it to Arrow later, that was exactly the kind of act she would appreciate.

His momentary distraction cost him. The leader landed a blow to his jaw followed by a hard kick between his legs. For a moment the world seemed to centre around a single point and he staggered backward, blinded by pain. A fire arrow hissed over him, striking the woman in the chest. She screamed in rage. Behind the arrow, charged the great brown bear that was Jaheira, swiping at her with her claws. The enemy monk was too quick and dodged her blows. Rasaad tried to get up and help but he was in so much agony that his legs were not responding to command.

The ducking and weaving ended when she was hit by a Hold Person spell from Xan. It seemed that repeatedly needing it and not having it, had prompted him to start memorizing the curse. The monk strained against her invisible bonds, squeezing her eyes shut at the last moment before the bear tore her open with her paws. Though the monk was already defeated and it was a waste of an expensive arrow, a final shot was fired through her eye. Rather than let her suffer slowly Arrow had opted to spend a shot to end it quickly.

The last fighters standing were Sorrem, who was watching his friends drop around him with increasing dismay, and the demon-monk. The latter, while less adept at inflicting damage, had exceptional dexterity. She and Khalid were locked in an apparent stalemate; she weaving around like a possessed housefly to avoid his strikes and he so well protected that none of her scratches and slaps were making the slightest impact.

"Why were you helping them Sorrem?" called Arrow, "Come on, you must have had a reason!"

"You bastards ruined everything!" he howled miserably, "They were going to take me to their master in the Cloud Peaks and train me up as one of them. I could have had powerful friends and power for myself too. Not like here where everyone spits on me."

"Where in the Cloud Peaks?" asked Xan. "If you co-operate our ranger might be fool enough to make us spare you. Come on, it's too late to join them now."

"Not if I bring them the Sun Soul's head," he offered, without conviction. The party had just beaten the fully trained Dark Moon Monks. Sorrem must know that it was hopeless. Then again, Rasaad considered, he must have been desperate to want to join the Dark Moon cult in the first place. There was no reason to suppose that these events had made him any less so.

"You cannot beat me," said Rasaad, "Surrender now before it is too late."

For a moment it looked as though Sorrem was considering it, but then he charged clumsily, knife drawn. A magic missile from Imoen struck him before he even reached the monk and he collapsed to the ground. Jaheira padded over casually to where her husband was still trying to swat the monk with the sharpened teeth and tattooed eyes. She raised her paw almost lazily over the woman, who was too preoccupied with Khalid's broadsword to pay much attention. For a few more moments she continued to dodge and weave until Jaheira, choosing her moment like a grizzly bear catching a salmon, brought her paw down in one swift strike. With an unpleasant crunch, she crushed the monk's skull.

A sweep of the bodies yielded a modest sum of gold and some hide armour, which they gave to Imoen. At first glance Sorrem's dagger looked like it might be worth something, but when Khalid scratched the blade with his thumb it came away orange.

"C-contaminated," he sighed resignedly, "Like the i- iron ore from Nashkel. Light the torches, would you Xan?"

"Oh, what's the point?" sighed Xan. "Soon our meagre weapons will disintegrate and we will be easy prey for our enemies. At least in the dark we will not see our inevitable deaths approaching."

Nevertheless, the wizard lit them and they got a good look at their attackers. That some of them were underfed was now even more apparent. The leader and her two assassins had been in reasonably good shape but the rank and file monks were in poor condition. From his days as an orphan roaming the streets of Calimport, and later his outreach work with the Sun Soul order, Rasaad was very familiar with the signs of malnutrition. He recognized it in them. It seemed the followers of Shar's reputation for cruelty even to their own was well deserved. He could not allow this to go on.

"Jaheira, let us journey to these Cloud Peaks and face the Dark Moon cult," said Rasaad seriously. "Alone I could never defeat them, but together we have a chance to put an end to their murderous campaign."

"What? No!" exclaimed Imoen. "The Cloud Peak mountains lie to the far South! We have to go North to team up with Freya. No way are we going to leave her to fight the Iron Throne alone while we go on your vengeance spree!"

"While I will never forget Gamaz's death my desire is not for revenge. I wish only to stop the Dark Moon cult from claiming more victims."

Both monk and thief were looking rebellious. Arrow looked anxiously to Khalid, who shrugged and then to Jaheira who was midway changing out of her bear-form. If it came to a vote she would certainly opt to go to the Cloud Peaks. Frankly, Freya seemed to be doing just fine without their assistance, and despite what Imoen assumed she had no desire to go to Baldur's Gate.


	11. Viconia's New Pet

"Urgh so many bodies, it's like a Zhent orgy in here!" cried Imoen.

The room was starting to reek of blood and Xan backed out protesting that he needed some air. The half-elves followed with Imoen scurrying after Jaheira trying to convince her of the merits of joining her werewolf friend in Baldur's Gate. Arrow stayed however, her sleeve covering her nose going from body to body, testing their pulses and arranging some of them into more dignified positions. Rasaad watched her work resignedly.

"These two are still alive," she said at length. "We need to stop by the temple and get a cleric out here."

"Did you learn nothing from last time? Once they heal they'll only attack us again," he groaned.

"These ones might not," mused Arrow, "They were only drones and not well treated by the cult from the look of them. Besides if they turn up back at their headquarters unharmed without their leaders that'll lead to some awkward questions. My bet is they'll run."

"They don't deserve this," the monk said flatly.

Arrow got up from examining the demon-like monk's caved-in head. She was up to her elbows in blood now and glaring at him rather accusingly.

"You're right. They don't," she snapped, "But what about the families in the houses next door? If we leave the monks here, they are going to be rotting for a good long while before anyone notices the smell and gets rid of them. That's going to be one hell of a clean-up job for somebody, probably an _unpaid_ somebody. Plus the neighbours won't have a clue what happened here. For all they'll know a mass murdering lunatic could be on the loose in their town! They'll be terrified, the kids won't be allowed outdoors for months! Not to mention it will waste the garrisons' time trying to unpick what happened here…"

"I admit I had not thought about it in those terms," replied Rasaad. "I was perhaps too focussed on the battle and where we go from here. This man Sorrem wanted to join the Dark Moon monks, the assassins who murdered my brother. Much though I try to calm my heart, it pounds with rage."

"I am sorry Rasaad, I know how you must feel," said Arrow.

She muttered a healing spell over the two unconscious monks. As a ranger her abilities in this area were very limited but she was capable of stabilizing them long enough to keep them from dying before a proper healer could be summoned. He crouched down beside her, having half a mind to suggest that she wait for them at the foot of the mountains when they reached the Cloud Peaks. She was a competent archer but if she planned to revive his enemies as they went along, putting an end to the Dark Moon cult might take a very long time indeed. On balance, however, he felt that keeping her with him was worth the inconvenience.

"In my anger I forgot that you too are an orphan. Please forgive my selfishness," he said.

"You aren't being selfish, you have every right to be angry. What is important is that you don't let that anger change you for the worse," she replied gently.

Rasaad narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He had grown up in a religious order so he recognized a guilt-trip when he was being sent on one.

"No," he replied firmly, "Absolutely not!"

"What?" she asked, taken aback.

"I see where you are going with this Arowan," he said heavily. "We are not taking Sorrem to the temple for revival. He knew what he was doing, I gave him multiple chances and he threw them back in my face. We revived those three assassins last time and they tried to kill us again. What if they had succeeded, and we lost Imoen or one of the others? How would you feel then?"

"I wasn't about to suggest reviving him," she agreed. He relaxed, letting his shoulders drop. "I only have enough gold for one of these monks and I'm using it on her."

She pointed to the demon-like woman sprawled on the floor. Her mouth was gaping open revealing filed pointed teeth and her black eyeballs stared blankly at nothing. The back of her skull was practically concave where Jaheira had smashed it but, even in death, her hands were curled around in a clawing gesture. With her mouth hanging open, Rasaad could see that she had even mutilated her tongue, taking slices off of each side to make it pointier.

"Arrow, up until this moment I had thought you the kindest, sweetest person I had ever met," he told her seriously, "Albeit a little misguided. But now I am starting to think you may actually be insane. Of all of them she is the last I would have thought… we already revived her once and she attacked us again!"

"Rasaad she's clearly unwell," pleaded Arrow, "I don't think she really understands what she's doing. I'm not even sure she can speak. You can see how they were treating these monks! Think of the terrible things they must have done to her to get her into this state…"

She broke off suddenly, her nose and cheeks turning a little pink as his words sunk in. Rasaad also began to blush, realising what he had just said. She didn't look upset though. In fact, she looked quite pleased. She was smiling at him shyly. He swallowed.

"The sweetest, kindest person? Really?"

"Well, I, uh… you are very…" he spluttered. His heart began to thump.

"Thanks Rasaad," she said, "You are 'very' too. I've never had a friend like you."

The monk felt an overwhelming rush of relief, only slightly tainted by disappointment. She liked him as a good friend, which was perfect because that was all they could ever be. The pounding in his chest subsided and he was able to collect his thoughts.

"You… you remind me of a lesson I should never have forgotten even in my anger. Thank you. You are a better friend than you may realise," he said. "Very well, we will take your human hell hound to the temple. Even though undoubtedly the first thing she will try to do when she wakes up will be to claw your eyes out."

By the time they had dealt with the temple and made camp, Arrow was beyond tired. What she could really have used was a natural sleep, uninterrupted by violent dreams. Unfortunately Eric's master had other ideas. It was the first time she had seen the boy pitted against normal people instead of monsters.

"Prepare for things to get ugly as these unlucky adventurers do their upmost to gain the upper hand against our undulating wizard, as he unleashes for the umpteenth time…"

"What exactly is it you think undulating means?" heckled Eric.

"Shut up and get to fighting!" screeched the drow. As Eric turned to face his opponents the announcer picked out a thick book from under his chair, flicked to "U" and cursed under his breath. "Would like to see him try coming up with original oratory for five fights a day… everybody's a critic…"

The adventuring party he was facing were made up of a dwarf warrior dual wielding a pair of ornate axes, an elf archer and a frightened looking human cleric whose expression reminded Arrow sharply of Eric's first time in the pits. If this fact stirred up any sympathy in the mage, then it did not reflect in his behaviour.

"Die necromancer!" bellowed the dwarf, charging forward with both axes. The elf sent an arrow whistling at Eric, which he allowed to strike him in his bony arm. The expensive robes that his patrons had gifted him absorbed most of the damage, leaving only a scratch. He focussed all his energy on the dwarf and charmed.

 _Necromancer?_ Arrow thought. _That can't be right._

A blank expression spread over the dwarf's features and he turned slowly back on the elf and the cleric. The human turned her attention away from Eric and began casting dispel magic, but her powers were no match for his and it had no effect. She shot him a look of pure terror from under her mousey hair. Something flickered in his boyish features as she locked eyes with him. He pulled a bottle of grey potion out of his robes and took a very small taste.

"No!" thundered the Hooded Man from the stands. He turned to the drow. "I gave clear instructions that the Bhaalspawn wasn't to have access to numbing potions! Where did he get that Baeloth?"

The drow, Baeloth, spluttered a wordy apology but the Hooded Man wasn't listening. He had turned his furious attention back to Eric. The boy no longer seemed concerned with him, or with the petrified young woman whose life he was about to end. He sent the charmed dwarf rampaging back at his own party, burying his first axe into her chest and then turning on the elf archer who kept a desperate rain of arrows on his own friend. It didn't help. The dwarf removed his bow arm with a swing of the remaining axe, before chopping it sideways into his abdomen. As the elf fell, he turned back obediently to Eric.

Eric smiled unfeelingly and lifted the charm. The dwarf gasped. He looked from the dead cleric to the archer and back again, letting out a great wail and tearing his beard. The audience watched, gaping. This was reality entertainment at its finest. The dwarf lifted his head and through his tears eyed Eric with pure hatred. This was the part where he would turn on the evil wizard and fight back.

However, while he had been agonizing about murdering his own friends, the elf and the human were getting up. Their movements were lurching now, their eyes blank and staring at nothing and both of them had the dwarf's axes still buried inside them.

 _Holy crap he really is a necromancer,_ Arrow thought. She suddenly felt cold all over. All this time she had believed Eric to be a wholly innocent captive, a young man caught in a situation outside his control… and yet what he was doing now, playing with his victims…

The dwarf could not bring himself to fight them. He fell to his knees, looking into their expressionless undead faces and imploring them to forgive him for their murder. He had neither weapons nor the will to fight on. Arrow screwed her eyes shut as they reached out and ripped pieces from him, and all the while Eric stood there and smiled.

"No, no, noooooooo! GET OFF ME!" Arrow screamed.

She woke abruptly and the first thing she saw were the tattooed black eyes of the newly revived Dark Moon monk gazing down at her. Her claw-like hands were kneading her through her sleeping bag and judging by the cold wet feeling on her cheek, she had been giving her face a good lick.

The monk froze, surprised and leaped off her, arching her back. Imoen gave Arrow a death glare.

"You have nobody but yourself to blame," she said, "You were the one who agreed to take her with us."

"A cleric charged me in the name of Ilmater," she replied.

"Only because he was afraid that her cultist friends would come to the temple looking for her again!" cried Imoen crossly.

"Well what else were we supposed to do with her?" protested Arrow. The monk was pawing her bag where her rations were kept and making pitiful noises.

"Oh, I don't know? Let her stay dead maybe? Like any sane person would have done!" Imoen snapped.

"Ok, ok… I'm getting up," groaned Arrow, opening her pack and finding the monk some biscuits. She snatched them in her mouth, hissed at her, and slithered out of the tent. The ranger let Imoen brush and braid her hair before stepping out, nibbling on a dry biscuit of her own. The men had already packed and were eating and drinking from their water skins while they waited.

"I d- don't suppose you could catch l- lunch again for us could you?" suggested Khalid hopefully. He had a particular fondness for rabbit meat.

"Of course she can," Imoen beamingly volunteered her. Arrow looked wary, those rabbits had been a fluke. It was unlikely that she would be bringing in such a good haul again for a while. For some reason, Jaheira was also fixing the pink haired girl with a rather stony expression. Arrow hoped this meant that she had failed to persuade their leader to travel to Baldur's Gate.

She began wrapping up their few belongings and rolling up the tent. It had been a dry night in contrast to the last few days so the task was reasonably quick. She was just tucking away the last of the tent pegs into their pouch when she was distracted by an excited squeal.

"Hey check it out!" cried Imoen pointing. The Dark Moon monk had raised one leg and was bending in two to lick her inner thigh. She turned to their own monk, Rasaad. "Can you do that? Do they teach you at the monastery?"

"Why would they teach us to do such a thing?" asked Rasaad, bemused.

"Well it'd make keeping your celibacy vows a lot easier if you could lick your own," the thief suggested brightly. "You'd get some wicked neck ache, but that wouldn't stop most guys, I reckon."

The monk choked and spat out his water. Arrow turned away slightly so that he would not see her giggling.

"Come on, Cat. Time to go," she called. The demon-like creature paused her licking and scowled at her, then stood up, grooming her shoulder indifferently.

"You gave it a name?" Jaheira moaned despairingly. "We can't keep her you know! Where in Faerun do you propose we take her? We can't leave her with the Ilmatari, they can't defend themselves if the cult comes for her… and what other type of temple do you think is going to tolerate this?"

"Take her to Candlekeep and leave her there!" Imoen suggested wickedly. "Can you imagine the monks of Oghma trying to deal with that?"

Arrow was correct in surmising that Imoen had not convinced Jaheira to go to Baldur's Gate. Instead they began to head South in the general direction of the Cloud Peaks. They did not know exactly where in the mountains the cult was based but the druid planned to ask questions along the way and hopefully narrow it down.

Imoen trudged along sulkily, muttering under her breath until Khalid cheered her up by mentioning a travelling carnival which had setup near Nashkel. By promising her a visit, he managed to coax a smile from her and soon she was trotting alongside him chattering happily. Arrow was also secretly looking forward to the carnival, though she did not wish to appear childish by saying so. She had only seen fairs in pictures, one would never be allowed within the walls of the library. Though she was not fond of crowds she did enjoy fried food, pretty colours and listening to bard song.

At around midday they stopped for some lunch. Rasaad excused himself to meditate, though this was made difficult by Cat, who took advantage of his cross-legged pose to bask in his lap. The sun was out and although there was still nothing to eat but biscuits, it was pleasant to sit out in the warmth with her friends. At least until Imoen squatted down beside her with a sly look.

"So. You and Rasaad?" she asked eagerly.

"For heaven's sake Imoen, we haven't even known each other for that long. We are just good friends," protested Arrow, rolling her eyes.

"Good friends who need to get a room," she giggled.

"For what feels like the fiftieth time Immy: He. Is. A. Monk!" exclaimed Arrow. "He won't be 'getting a room' with me, or any other woman!"

"Erm... perhaps this is a bad time," came a gentle Calishite voice from behind them. Arrow cringed inwardly. "I was just wondering if I could finish my meditations while you distract your friend… your pet… _this._ "

Rasaad was standing behind the two girls looking embarrassed while Cat wound herself affectionately around his legs. Arrow picked up a biscuit and threw it as hard as she could. The demon-like woman bounded away after it, sniffing in the grass to try and find where it had fallen.

"It's ok!" she said, intending to sound casual but the words came out shrill and flustered. "Imoen was just making a joke. She doesn't actually think we'd share a room. I mean why would we? Unless we were really short on gold. Then we'd all have to share a room. Not in the way Immy is implying though. Especially with all six of us. That would be insanely gross. Um."

She trailed off wrinkling her nose and wishing fervently that she had not said that.

"Bet it's going to take a lot of meditation to get that mental image out of your head," Imoen winked at Rasaad. "Is there a river nearby? Thanks to Arrow I need to go and wash my brain out with soap."

"Er…" said Rasaad.

"Ignore her," said Arrow, trying to force her voice to return to normal and willing her face not to heat up. "She does that a lot. There was this soldier at Candlekeep, Hull, Immy was always trying to imply that we were, um, a thing. We weren't though."

At the mention of Hull, Imoen threw back her head and howled with laughter. Rasaad and Arrow stared at her.

"I'm sorry," chuckled Imoen, "It's just… it was just so funny to watch but Gorion's spells meant I couldn't share it with anyone."

Rasaad looked at her disapprovingly. With his heavily inked face and intense glare, he looked a little intimidating. The pink haired chimera knew better though, and carried on giggling, unfazed.

"That seems a little mean spirited Imoen," he said reprovingly, "Even if Arrow does harbour… romantic feelings for this Hull, and she has said that she does not, mocking someone for unrequited affection is not kind."

"Oh, it wasn't Arrow's crush that was funny," said Imoen, wiping away tears of mirth, "It was the way Gorion's spell had the poor guy so confused. He thought that Arrow, and Freya, and Thorg and Afoxe were all the same person you see. It was just horrendous for him!"

"Horrendous how?" asked Rasaad, curious. He sat down beside the girls, distracted from further attempts at meditation.

"Well think about it. One minute, Hull is talking to Arrow, who is totally hanging on his every word and running little errands for him," said Imoen, "I'm sorry Arrow, but you were. Then along comes Freya, who is by far the most beautiful woman he has ever set eyes on. Hull is not her type _at all_ , but he thinks she and Arrow are one and the same. So now he thinks _Freya_ has a thing for him. The poor sod tries to send _Freya_ on an errand or asks her to go get a drink with him, but obviously she laughs in his face."

"Hull asked Freya on a date?" scowled Arrow.

"Numerous times," sighed Imoen happily, "But wait! It gets better, because the other guards knew that he'd asked Gorion's ward to be his girlfriend. Except that to most of them, Gorion's ward meant Afoxe!"

She clutched her sides at the memory and howled with glee. Arrow on the other hand looked like she was sucking on a lemon.

"Afoxe! That thumping great paladin who spent all his spare time training with the Master of Arms!" Imoen was laughing so hard now that her nose was running. "Poor Hull. They gave him credit for his bravery at least."

"That's… hilarious Imoen," said Arrow in a strained voice.

"It was a side-effect of the spell that Gorion hadn't really thought through," said Imoen, more seriously. "It wasn't a problem when you were kids but as soon as you all hit puberty and started wanting to have boyfriends and girlfriends it caused a world of chaos in Candlekeep. All those passing knights who used to do their courtly romance routine on Draxle. Oh, she loved a bit of them! Whereas you…"

"That's why those weirdos never took the hint," giggled Arrow, perking up a bit. "They thought we were the same girl. Tell me, did they ever try it on with the half orc?"

"Thorg? No," grinned Imoen, "The power of Gorion's spell did have its limits. If you turned up after they'd been flirting with Draxle that was a similar enough situation to keep the memory continuous. Whereas if Thorg came along… that sort of incident tended to rattle people. Gorion tried his best to keep you all separate to minimize that kind of thing, but Candlekeep wasn't a huge castle and it happened from time to time. Unavoidable. Usually the person would just get a headache and have to lie down for a bit."

Their heads jerked up at the sound of yelling and pounding feet. The party sprang up readying themselves for a battle, weapons drawn. Jaheira scratched protective runes on the ground with a stick.

"She's found me! That cursed drow!" wailed Xan.

"It is not the drow!" snapped Jaheira, looking up from her runes. Khalid and Rasaad stood ready for battle, the two Calishites looking as different as rock and water. Sunlight reflected almost blindingly from Khalid's new plate, his red hair blown back by the breeze. Rasaad, bald and tattooed, wore no armour at all and though he did carry a bastard sword it was rarely used. Imoen was looking on with a rather dreamy look on her face, though whether at Rasaad or the elf mage, Arrow couldn't tell. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and directed it at the noise, but she was not going to release it until she could see what she was shooting at. She had at least learned that much.

A figure burst out of the undergrowth, and for once Xan's pessimism was justified. It was the drow.

She was running full pelt, looking over her shoulder at her bellowing pursuer. Her loose silver hair rippled over her shoulder and she was not watching where she was going. Xan immediately tried to loose a Flame Arrow but Khalid yanked the mage's hand down firmly, causing it to miss and hit his feet.

"Wh- what are you doing? She's not attacking us!" he said, as the wizard yelped in pain.

This was only half true, as she did unintentionally proceed to do Xan some damage a few moments later. She kept running with her eyes on the bushes, apparently attempting to cast a spell and run at the same time. She only noticed the party when she cannoned into Xan, who was bent over his flame-struck feet, trying to ascertain if there were any breaks.

They tumbled over together onto the grass in a wild tangle of limbs and brown and silver hair. They both screamed in shock and sprang away from each other panting. Xan scrambled away from the drow on all fours backwards, an expression of horror painted on his face. She looked no less petrified. There were several open gashes on her tunic and she appeared to have been disarmed. Judging from her heavy breathing she had been running for some time.

Help me! If you don't help me they'll kill me!" she begged, panicked.

"Ok," said Xan breathlessly.

"You'll help me? Oh, thank you!" she cried gratefully, taking care to let her semi-exposed chest rise and fall dramatically. She was clearly determined to use every trick at her disposal to stay alive.

"No. I mean 'ok', they can kill you," replied Xan evenly.

The drow let out a sort of strangled squeak. She shook her head and threw herself first at Khalid, who backed off hastily and then Rasaad who turned to Jaheira bewildered.

"Calm down and tell us who you are," said Jaheira in a commanding voice.

"My name is Viconia. I- I'm not from around here," she replied, getting to her feet breathlessly.

"No kidding?" snapped Xan. "Jaheira, this is the assassin who tried to kill me in Beregost."

"No I'm not!" Viconia lied, convincingly. Her huge eyes were a very picture of innocence. "It is not my fault that you cannot tell one drow from another. I have never even been to Beregost!"

"Liar!" bellowed Xan, as her pursuer finally caught up with her. A portly officer with a ruddy face and well-worn armour came lurching out into the open. He did not appear to be in the best shape and was clutching his side as though he had a stitch.

"Step aside travellers, I am a member of the Flaming Fist. The woman you are harbouring is wanted for murder of the foulest sort. She is a dark elf, it should be obvious that she is evil," he panted.

"They lie! I've done nothing wrong," pleaded Viconia.

"Nothing wrong? You tried to murder me!" screamed Xan, furiously. His feet were too mangled by his own spell to get back up on them but propped up on his arm, with his dark hair strewn over his face, he did look quite scary.

"What do you intend to do once you have her?" Arrow asked warily.

"Kill her of course!" said the mercenary, astonished that anyone would need to inquire.

Jaheira agonized for a bit. It was clear that Viconia was the same assassin who had tried to kill Xan and sell her ward. Drow were not a common sight in surfacer cities, and unless they were leading an assault you would not find a group. Moreover, she wore a symbol of Shar unashamedly around her neck. Rasaad had spotted it already and his lip was curling. On the other hand she had not actually succeeded in committing any crime against them, and was in no position to do so now.

"We can't allow that," said Jaheira firmly. "You'll have to go through us to get to her."

"A stupid decision! For harbouring a murderer I sentence you all to death!" he snarled.

"I see the Flaming Fist's reputation for honour and due process is well deserved," observed Arrow.

"Shut up Arrow," snapped Jaheira.

Sensing a soft-touch, Viconia ducked behind the ranger. She groaned inwardly at the thought of having to babysit two mad Sharrans. On the subject of which, where had Cat wandered off to?

The Flaming Fist officer swung his sword at Khalid, but before the blow could land, he froze and stared. Bounding on all fours like a greyhound, Cat dodged around the party heading straight for him. A long string of spittle was drooling behind her, her eyes were solid black and her fangs bared.

"What in the name of Tempus?" the officer bellowed. She leapt at his face and he raised his sword arm to defend himself. Cat's momentum toppled him over onto his back and with one swift, targeted bite, she had ripped out his jugular. The man's body twitched and jerked on the ground, his blood mingling with the mud. Then he was still.

"Awww!" cried Viconia. She was looking on admiringly as one might gaze at a puppy or a baby rabbit. "Where did you come from? Aren't you _lovely?_ "

It took them a moment to register that she was talking to Cat. The bald demon-like woman bounced over to the drow who cooed and fawned over her, scratching behind her ears. The Dark Moon monk licked her cheek and snuggled into her chest.

Xan was looking at the dead Flaming Fist officer and the drow assassin that they had saved from him in stunned disbelief. He was opening and shutting his mouth but seemed unable to form any words. Khalid shot a bewildered look at his wife, who shrugged helplessly. Rasaad had folded his arms which were turning red in the glare of the sun. Although he did not seem afraid of Viconia, like Xan was, his expression was grim.

"Oh, we used to make these in Menzoberranzan for the children to play with," Viconia cooed, rubbing Cat's tummy. "It takes years of work to make one as tame as this. Why, she saw I was a Sharran and came straight to my aid, even though she'd never seen me before. Wherever did you buy her?"

"She saw she was a Sharran and came straight to her aid," echoed Rasaad, with an accusing glance at Arrow. "Well, that is going to be a problem."


	12. Wheel of Fortune

They saw the multicoloured glow from the carnival a good hour before they reached it. The sun set as they walked and by the time the faint mumble of the crowd had become a loud hum, night had fallen. The fair was as bright as day though, lit by strings of red and green lanterns hanging between the tents and two large bonfires over which whole pigs were roasting.

Cheerful bard song floated on the air punctuated by the excited squeals of small children. As they got close, Jaheira began lecturing them, insisting that they go around the fair in groups of at least two in case of assassins. She was pleased when they were handed colourful carnival masks as they paid their entry fees. These would certainly make an assassin's job more challenging. The only member of their party not wearing one was Cat, who hissed at the startled doorman when he tried to place one on her.

"Is she a performer?" he asked uncertainly. "I've not seen her around before."

"Auditioning," lied Viconia smoothly. The carnival man seemed to accept this and waved them through. It soon became clear that while their strange group might attract a lot of attention elsewhere, by the standards of the circus they were hardly that unusual. Performers filed past them headed between plays and acts in all manner of outlandish costumes. Nobody was paying them the least bit of attention. The drow relaxed a little.

The air was thick with delicious smells of frying donuts and cooking meat. Within seconds of their arrival, Arrow began gravitating toward the food wagons. Rasaad happily volunteered to partner up with her, observing that this fair reminded him of the huge annual festivals in Calimport, and the pair dispersed into the crowd. Imoen pretended to follow them to escape Jaheira's glare, though her real destination was the fortune teller's tent. Cat, who would not be instructed, leapt from some crates onto a tent top out of reach and bounded away. Khalid and Jaheira automatically drifted off together leaving Xan and Viconia as reluctant carnival buddies.

"Tell me Viconia," said Xan as she strode beside him moodily, "Why did the other drow kick you out? Were you too much of a spiteful, murderous liar even for them?"

"I wish only to be useful to this group," she replied innocently. She turned to him, her red eyes glinting beneath a silver mask that the doorman admiringly said matched her hair. "The others are willing to give me a chance despite my past. Why won't you?"

"Give it up Viconia, the others have gone. We both know it was you who tried to kill me in Beregost so you can drop the act," Xan said wearily.

"You are a ridiculous, cowardly little man," she snapped. "You weren't even scratched! All I asked was to join the party then. If you had just accepted my offer, our little fight need never have taken place."

They continued bickering in this vein for some time as they made their way around the fair. The mask coupled with the high proportion of actors in costume made Viconia feel unusually secure. Were it not for the whinging wizard trailing along beside her like a hungry dog she would be quite enjoying herself. Losing him, or better yet removing him, was not an option though. She was well aware that her welcome into the group was still in its trial period and she needed to be on her best behaviour. For now.

Imoen also appreciated the carnival but for her own reasons she was not having fun. A good long chat with the mystic, a kindly old lady, confirmed to her what she already knew. That her feelings were hopeless and unrequited and that she needed to leave the party. Once she had put some distance between herself and the man it would be easier to move on. She wandered around among the bright lights and happy punters until she came to a stall selling candyfloss. A little comfort eating was exactly what the occasion called for. She was not looking forward to telling Arrow. On the other hand, it presented an opportunity to find Freya again, and she had missed the wolf terribly. True Arrow was kinder and certainly more moral, but she was also a lot less fun. Moreover, the fortune teller predicted that she would finally get the chance to become a mage if she did go to Baldur's Gate, so it wasn't all bad news.

The fair was not so large that the other members of her group were hard to find. She came across Khalid leaning against the pole of a bright gold lantern, watching his wife vociferously denouncing a dishonest gamesman she had found. His red hair flopped into his face. She adored his hair, that and his shy, unassuming manner. The selfless way he rushed headlong into battle to protect the group despite his obvious lack of confidence. His charming, unfaltering devotion to his wife. Even under his sapphire-blue carnival mask she could see his eyes shining for her.

Imoen nibbled the edge of her candyfloss and forced herself to look away. She had to leave, and she had to do it now. Nip this silly crush in the bud before it put down deeper roots and became harder to eradicate.

Khalid, of course, was oblivious to all of this. He was watching his wife berate the unfortunate gamesman with a faint smile tugging the corners of his mouth. The medley of carnival music, squealing children and the contented hum of the crowd were not nearly enough to drown her out. No doubt this crook had come across many a disappointed and angry gambler, but Khalid was prepared to bet that he had never run into a force of nature like Jaheira before. The fire red mask she had been handed on entry made her look even more intimidating. The poor man must think a minor demon from one of the hells had been set loose to punish his dishonesty. What such a woman could see in a weak man like himself, he still had no idea, even after all these years.

Jaheira was drawing in an audience who were finding this as worthy a piece of entertainment as any other on offer at the carnival. The druid smacked the gamesman in the groin with her staff, and as he doubled over, she tossed him a gold coin and spun his Wheel of Fortune. It made a loud whistling noise as the brightly coloured panels clicked round and round. Jaheira pushed aside the prize display to reveal a small wooden lever. The crowd hissed at the gamesman. She pulled it and the wheel stopped.

"What a surprise. I won," she said. She pointed to a striking stranger in the crowd. "You! The blonde woman in the green mask! Pick a prize!"

The woman, a tall warrior with two swords strapped to her back, lowered her ale from her lips. She looked Jaheira up and down and grinned wolfishly.

"I'll take the ring!" she called back in a surprisingly hoarse and grainy voice. Imoen had still been musing over Khalid but her head shot up suddenly. Jaheira picked a Ring of Infravision from the prize shelf and tossed it to the lucky winner, who caught it deftly in her almost empty tankard. She drained the remaining beer, spat the ring into her palm and polished it on her tunic.

"That was a coincidence!" protested the gamesman, as he struggled back to his feet. "I wasn't cheating, that had nothing to do with the lever!"

"Very well," said Jaheira imperiously, "In that case we will play again." Khalid grinned as his wife flicked the startled man another gold piece and spun the wheel a second time. Imoen was craning now to get a better view of the blonde woman. It couldn't be Freya, it must just be wishful thinking on her part, but it sounded like her… if only the crowd weren't so thick!

"For you Safana," the blonde woman said, handing her dried off Ring of Infravision to an unimpressed looking lady, while an elf scowled behind her.

"Hey!" the elf grumbled, "I spent half my gold trying to win her that!"

"If I had wanted the ring that badly Coran," Safana replied in a sneering drawl, "I would have stolen it myself, and it wouldn't be covered in dog drool. Speaking of stealing, I don't know about you, but I actually got a decent haul today. Three hundred gold, a fistful of gems and a wand of Magic Missile. What do you say we head out before we get caught?"

Imoen was too far away to hear any of this over the noise of the crowd. She tried elbowing people aside to get a better look, but the gathering of spectators was getting larger and tighter. Again, Jaheira pulled the lever and the wheel landed on the golden prize segment.

"Wizard in the red robes! It is your lucky day," she declared. "What'll it be?"

"The gold," said the wizard, adding under his breath, "What manner of gibbering baboon would choose any of the other garbage on display?"

"The rude lunatic talking to himself wins the jackpot!" cried Jaheira. The grimacing gamesman, who was still massaging his nether regions, started to object. The druid smacked him with her staff a second time and he fell to the ground with a shrill wail. She ripped the purse from his belt and tossed it to the wizard.

"We could have had the gold instead of that trashy ring," wailed Safana in exasperation. This time her voice was loud enough to carry to Imoen. "You're a dumb mutt Freya you really are," she added, cuffing the blonde woman over the back of the head before dragging her partners away.

Imoen began to run through the crowd to get to them but her arm was caught by Khalid as she sped past him.

"W-what are you doing? We're supposed to be in pairs!" he demanded angrily. Freya's party, meanwhile were headed for the exit, dragged purposefully by Safana.

"I still can't believe you dragged us all this way just to find this 'Imoen' because of a dream you had," Coran was complaining. "Do you collect thieves or something?"

Imoen could not hear him. She was struggling bodily against a confused Khalid and screaming Freya's name, but she went unheard. This was because a scuffle had broken out between the winning wizard and some unlucky punters on the Wheel of Fortune who felt that they deserved a refund. The mood of the crowd between her and the werewolf was turning ugly and growing louder by the second.

"She's my best mate, and you two needn't feel threatened," grinned Freya, looping an affectionate arm over each thief. "Imoen's crap at stealing. Couldn't pick a lock if her life depended on it. You going to finish that beer Coran?"

Coran generously tipped half of his remaining beer into the werewolf's empty mug, which she immediately drank. Since her arms were around the shoulders of her friends she had to hug him quite tightly to do this. As an added bonus this meant pulling Safana closer to him too. The elf grinned under his lime green mask, perfectly content with the world.

"What in Faerun has gotten into you?" Khalid gave Imoen a hard shake. His wife was spinning the wheel for a third time.

"Freya! It's Freya!" she babbled, pointing at the werewolf, who was disappearing around the entrance tent. Khalid looked at her blankly. "The girl from the poster, the one from Arrow's dreams, Gorion's other ward."

"That Freya?" asked Khalid.

"That Freya!" she nodded desperately. Khalid sprang into action, and using his shield as a makeshift plough began to carve a path for them through the assembled people.

"Pick a prize!" Jaheira called, pointing to a broad-shouldered man wearing an ornate yellow mask. A small chunk of it had been roughly hacked off with a sword to fashion a tiny mask for a hamster perched on his shoulder.

"For our prize Minsc and Boo would like to place a righteous boot upon the buttocks of this swindling fraud!" Minsc cried, pointing a sausage-like finger. The gamesman moaned but he was in too much pain to say anything coherent.

"Congratulations Minsc, you and your rodent are today's lucky winners!" Jaheira replied, "Step forward to claim your prize!"

Minsc bounded up to the platform like an excited puppy. The masked hamster scurried down his trousers to hitch a ride on the swinging boot of justice. Jaheira positioned the whimpering victim and the berserker's great boot swung back. Boo hunkered down, clinging to the laces like a child on a carnival ride. Sensing there was no escape but that his ordeal might soon be over, the gamesman clenched and braced himself.

The force of the kick lifted him clean off of the platform and sent him headfirst through his own canvass wheel with a tremendous bang. A cheer rose up from the crowd and Minsc lifted his muscular arms in celebration. Boo skittered up his partner to perch proudly on one of his raised fists.

The druid rubbed her hands together in satisfaction at a job well done and jumped down from the platform, only to see Khalid and Imoen finally breaking through the crowd and sprinting for the entrance. She pelted after them with an annoyed grimace. Sensing a chance of action, Minsc hurried after her.

"Look Monty! Look who it is!" squealed a familiar voice excitedly.

"Well, well, well," sneered Montaron, blocking Khalid's path. He scratched his back, with a nasty leer. "The Harper scum. Which means that incompetent brat of a ranger must be around here somewhere. Where is Arrow, Khalid? Yer archer and I are overdue a catch-up."

"O- out of the way!" bellowed Khalid angrily, "We don't have time for this!"

"She went to visit the fortune teller," lied Imoen, "Now get out of the way I'm in a hurry!"

She sprinted past them out the gates but the werewolf and her companions were nowhere in sight. Imoen shrieked angrily as Khalid explained to Jaheira. Ignoring the Zhents, the druid streaked past them and snatched up Imoen before she could run off alone into the night after her friend.

"We can't leave Arrow, she doesn't know the Zhents are here!" insisted Jaheira. Imoen nodded and turned back but Xzar and Montaron had already vanished. "We have to find Arrow and Rasaad, quick! They weren't really going to see a fortune teller were they?"

"Of course not," said Imoen, "It's the one place I knew our little Ilmatari definitely wouldn't be. She doesn't like fortune tellers. Says they take advantage of the poor, the bereaved and the desperate."

"We have to find her before Montaron does," said the druid urgently. "He'll kill her for sure over that accident in the Nashkel mines. Let's get moving."

Arrow had not gone to the fortune teller's tent but unfortunately, Xan and Viconia had. Purple and gold lanterns flickered from the entrance to the tent. A heavy smell of incense was wafting out, making Viconia wrinkle her nose. On the other hand, out here the full moon shone like a beacon in the horrible empty sky. She glared at it spitefully, and retreated into the relative gloom of the tent.

"Jaheira said we weren't supposed to split up," called Xan in his nasally whine. The drow clenched her teeth and hissed. They had been travelling together only a day and already this elf was getting on her nerves.

"Fine, then follow, feeble male," she sneered.

"Stop speaking to me like I'm your slave!" he snapped.

"I wasn't. You should be honoured if I did," retorted Viconia. "Where I come from something as scrawny as you would not qualify to be a slave."

"Where you come from... yes... a dark place," croaked a voice from the corner of the tent. An old woman wrapped in layer upon layer of colourful shawls was hunched over a crystal orb. Large gaudy rings set with red and orange stones glimmered on her wrinkled fingers.

Xan stomped in after Viconia rolling his eyes. Under the protection of Jaheira's group she had taken to keeping her hood down. The half-masks everyone had been handed on entry to the fair did nothing to hide what she was. He personally would be more than happy to allow the drow to wander unaccompanied with her dark elf face and silvery hair on full display. However, instant dismissal from the party seemed likely if he allowed her to end up atop one of the carnival bonfires along with the roast pigs.

"Of course she is from a dark place, she is a drow, and all drow come from the Underdark," he snapped. The air was so heavy that when he spoke he could taste the incense. "Viconia if you must waste the party's gold, do it at one of the gaming tables where at least there's a chance of winning something."

"Aww. Does the ickle Greycloak want the big strong drow to win him a teddy bear?" she sneered. The wizard scowled at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Viconia smirked, her red eyes gleaming under her silvery carnival mask. She did not believe the old rivvil possessed any special powers. On the other hand, irritating Xan was worth a gold coin or two all by itself. She perched on a low wooden stool opposite her.

The woman raised her crumpled face and beckoned Xan to join them. The wizard huffed and rolled his eyes but soon it became clear that the reading would not start (and therefore not end) unless he complied. He slouched over and, since there was only one stool, half-squatted next to Viconia.

"You hail from the Underdark, yes... But there is light in your future. I see the blinding white glare of sunlight on snow," she whispered in a mystical voice.

"We're headed to the mountains in the South!" confirmed Viconia with a smug look at Xan. "What else do you see haggard crone?"

The faintest hint of a scowl flickered over the old woman's features, but she swallowed the insult and stayed in character.

"I see a great battle, light striving against darkness," the fortune teller continued. "I see swords of fire and moonlight that once fought each other, wielded side by side against a common foe. I see... a lot of bald people."

"This is getting a bit weird," admitted Xan. Their party were headed to the Cloud Peak mountains to battle the monks of the Dark Moon cult. They were indeed notoriously hairless. Likewise, his moonblade and her summoned sword of fire had recently crossed in anger, just like the old woman said.

The fortune teller took both of their palms, one in each hand and rubbed her thumbs over them. Then she pressed their hands together, folding their fingers so that drow and elf were holding hands. Viconia wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"I see old wrongs being put aside," she rasped, "Along with unwanted clothes. Old grudges will be forgotten in a night of wild passion..."

"Wait, what?" yelped Xan.

"You cannot possibly be suggesting that I would mate with such a repulsive excuse for a male?" snapped Viconia, snatching her hand back. "What have I done to you to deserve such an insult?"

"I see a young elf man thrusting with abandon against his forbidden lover, ancient prejudices discarded, as her tongue-"

"Enough!" Xan snarled at the old woman, "I am done listening to the vile ramblings of a deranged mind! Come Viconia, we are leaving!"

"Finally, something we can agree on," said the drow indignantly. "Though if you ever dare to order me around like that again the only thing you will be leaving is your mortal body behind you."

"I'd like to see you try," he mocked, holding back the tent flap for her.

"I did try once and came very close to succeeding," Viconia hissed. "Just something to think about."

Thinking about that was far more agreeable to Xan than the other thoughts the fortune teller had planted in his head. Viconia was an evil drow. He was supposed to find her repulsive. Her personality certainly _was_ repulsive and yet... there was no getting around the fact that physically he had never seen her equal.

"Hold!" thundered the old woman, "You witness my powers of divination and dare to not pay me? I call upon the spirits of my ancestors to curse you!"

"No need for that," said Xan nervously, "Here's five gold. Your performance was, er... very convincing until you started suggesting that I have relations with this evil cobra!"

"And I will give you ten gold to shut up," snapped Viconia, sounding more confident than she felt. This senile rivvil did seem to know an awful lot about them. Perhaps she had some gift with the weave after all. The mystic bit the gold, then apparently satisfied that it was genuine, dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

No sooner had they stepped out off the fuggy tent and taken a welcome breath of fresh air, than they found themselves immobilized. At first Viconia assumed betrayal and that Xan had done it but a sideways glance told her that the infuriating Greycloak was also stunned.

"That's not Arrow, Monty!" came a disappointed whisper.

"Oh well," shrugged the halfling, "Can't let 'em go now ye've told them me name. We'll see if there's anything on them worth taking and dump their bodies in the river. A stinking drow and a drow's lover won't be missed."

Next thing they knew, Xan and Viconia were being dragged backward behind the tents toward two jousting lanes. There were no tournaments at this time of evening and the area was deserted. A raised scaffold draped with silks had been constructed for the nobles to sit in. Xzar and Montaron heaved the unfortunate pair underneath it. While they were still stunned the thief took a length of rope and set about tying them up.

Back in the tent the elderly woman was cackling to herself and counting her gold. The dippy pink haired girl, Imoen, had told her all about her travelling companions and where they were going. She had read her palm earlier the same day and, for a woman her age, she possessed an exceptional memory. Easily enough details to trick the gullible duo into believing her powers were genuine. As for the prediction they had found so offensive, well, served them right for being so damn rude.


	13. Nashkel Carnival

The spell binding Xan and Viconia was starting to wear off but this was not Montaron's first kidnapping and his ropes were doing their job. The grubby halfling thief was observing Viconia's ruby glare with a business-like expression, scratching the back of his neck aggressively. Behind him stood a buck-toothed wizard in a torn emerald robe. Whatever their reasons for capturing them it was clear that these two were not in the service of the Flaming Fist and judging by the expressions on their faces, they were not expecting to catch a drow.

"So, this is the same dead wizard Jaheira's group carried out of the Nashkel mines?" the halfling snarled, "Yer absolutely sure?"

"No Monty, I'm not sure," sighed the green robed wizard shaking his long, greasy locks. He scratched behind his ear with one long, yellow fingernail. "I wasn't paying much attention to the deceased wizard, the deceased halfling was of more immediate concern to me. If it's not him he's a dead ringer though. Get it?"

"I'm him!" insisted Xan, suspecting that their survival might depend on it. Until the mad wizard had recognised him, Montaron had been preparing to slit their throats and dump them somewhere. "Let me guess. You're Montaron right? And he's Xzar?"

"Oh, that's him!" beamed Xzar, who'd had a brief opportunity to become acquainted with Xan's dead body. Looking at the necromantic symbols scrawled on Xzar's face, Xan felt fortunate to have been revived at a temple rather than having his body reanimated in some other way.

"So you died?" growled Montaron, running his fingernails over the back of his leg, "What happened? Did that incompetent little tart shoot you too?"

"If you mean Arowan, no she didn't. Although she did come quite close," replied Xan. "It was one of the kobolds who fired the killing shot."

"Release me at once you jumped up little pixie," hissed Viconia furiously, finding her tongue.

The halfling made no move to cut their bonds, instead he fingered his knife thoughtfully. Xan had been hit by a stray kobold arrow in the Nashkel mines before he'd had the chance to meet Arrow's former travelling companions, but he had heard plenty of colourful descriptions once he'd been revived. He had also been warned that if they ever ran into them again they were likely to bear the party a major grudge. Arrow had accidentally shot Montaron in the head, and though she had also paid to have him revived, agents of the Zhentarim were not known for their forgiving natures.

"Well seems to me this don't change much," said Montaron at length. "Those Harpers aren't the type to trade you for the ranger and we can't have you running off and warning her, now can we?"

"I have an idea," said Xzar in an excited whisper, "You kill them, and I'll reanimate them! Then when Arowan comes to greet her little friends… Surprise zombies!"

"Cease yer insane drivel!" Montaron snapped. Then he cocked his head to one side as he considered it. He scratched the back of his wrist absent mindedly. "I take it back, that's a great idea. Get your spells ready and I'll take care of the messy part."

"No wait!" cried Viconia as Montaron approached her with his knife, "We can make a deal!"

"Ye've nothing I want!" growled Montaron.

"At least nothing we can't take from your corpse," added Xzar helpfully.

"Sex?" suggested Viconia bluntly, since time was running out and subtlety would be wasted on these two.

"Again, nothing we can't take from your… I was joking Monty, _joking!_ " said Xzar as the halfling looked around in disgust. The thief rolled his eyes, shook his head and returned to the task at hand.

"Wait! We do have something you want!" exclaimed Xan, hit by a sudden bolt of inspiration. "Jaheira has a potion that can cure the lice!"

"Lice?! Why you little…" Montaron bellowed, turning away from Viconia and advancing on Xan with his knife instead.

"Look, you two have been scratching like crazy this whole time!" Xan elaborated hastily, "We all had them too! They came from that orc blanket in the mines. Jaheira got rid of ours, if you let us live she can do the same for you."

Montaron slowly lowered his knife. He looked genuinely torn.

"Oh, for the love of Cyric take the deal Monty," moaned Xzar scratching his neck.

"We can get rid of the lice ourselves," said Montaron.

"You had _lice?_ " cut in Viconia. She was looking at Xan with undisguised revulsion.

"Maybe we still do," said Xan. "You might catch them... Hadn't you better leave the party just to be on the safe side?"

"You surfacers disgust me," said Viconia.

The Zhents exchanged a puzzled glance. They were seriously debating whether or not to slaughter the pair of them, and yet these two seemed more concerned with fighting each other than bargaining for their lives. A shadow passed outside the drapes, there was a scuffling noise like an animal running across the empty stands above their heads. Monty gave Xzar a significant look and slipped out to investigate.

"This isn't just a surfacer problem, unless you are seriously suggesting that there are no lice in the Underdark," said Xan.

"Underdark lice bear no resemblance to their anaemic surface cousins," said Viconia haughtily. Then she added wistfully, "In my home city of Menzoberranzan the slave dens were infested with some truly magnificent specimens, the size of rats. They had the most beautiful mother-of-pearl shells. My sister had the prettiest little tea set made out of them. I inherited it after I killed her."

"You are proud of that are you?" sneered Xan, "That's what drow put on tourist brochures is it? 'Visit Menzoberranzan, home to the most superior parasites in all the Underdark!'"

"You are an ignorant little man!" snarled Viconia.

"You are a rude little woman," he parried coolly. Viconia's chest swelled with rage and she strained against her ropes.

"I hope that gnome guts you!" she shrieked.

She coughed suddenly. Montaron had returned and put his boot on her throat.

"Not a gnome," he said. "We didn't spot anyone outside which means back to the business at hand. Ye're going to wait here. We'll find Jaheira and see if she wants to make this trade. If it works, we let ye go."

The shadow passed the canvass again. This time the Zhents looked worried. Monty drew his knife again and Xzar started muttering spells under his breath. Xan strained to see what was going on but Viconia grinned broadly.

"Who are ye? Show yerself!" bellowed Monty.

"Yes, show yourself," purred Viconia. She raised her voice. "HERE KITTY, KITTY!"

Two sets of claw-like fingers dug into the painted canvass and ripped. The Zhents took a step backward as through the tattered hangings sprang Cat. She padded on all fours between Viconia and her captors. In the dim light the tattoos on her head, which were already becoming obscured by a light scattering of stubble, could only just be made out. Her solid black eyes shone wickedly and when she opened her mouth her teeth had been filed to sharpened points, except the front two which were missing.

"I don't like it," whimpered Xzar.

"Would you like a treat?" crooned Viconia to her Sharran pet. "Kill!"

"Ouch!" yelled Montaron. He took a step toward the drow and true to her training, the Sharran monk attacked, biting his hand. He dropped the dagger cursing, and as he bent down to pick it up, the monk slashed the top of his head sending a splatter of blood onto the dusty ground. It was only a surface wound, but it hurt and the halfling only had one healing potion.

"This is turning into more trouble than it's worth," muttered Monty. It was difficult to gauge whether the thing in front of him was human and how strong it might be, but the tied up drow looked confident that it could take them. He wasn't willing to risk it over these two. "Let's get out of here. We can murder Arrow another time."

"What about the lice?" asked Xzar. Cat was arching her back between Monty and Viconia making a noise that was somewhere between a bark and a roar. Monty tried raising a crossbow but the monk swiped it out of his hands and scampered off with it in her mouth to a safe distance, chewing on the casing malevolently.

"That thing knows where they are now so we can't do an exchange," muttered Monty, scratching disappointedly. "And I ain't going to go begging the druid for help. We'll have to work out another solution to the louse problem."

The pair slunk away. Cat began licking her hand contentedly.

"What a sweetheart! Isn't she well behaved?" smiled Viconia.

"Thank you, Cat!" cried Xan, "I am going to take you to the food tents and buy you a whole pork belly all to yourself! Now untie us, quick!"

Cat stared at them with her blank blackened eyes, then calmly resumed her grooming.

"Oh no," groaned Xan. "That's it. We're doomed."

"Here Cat, nice Cat," coaxed Viconia. "Come nibble through my ropes. Come on!"

Cat brushed her cheek against Viconia and slurped her affectionately, but the instruction to untie the rope seemed to exceed her capacity.

"Come on Cat, slash the knots!" Xan urged. Cat ignored him and started rubbing her cheek affectionately over Viconia's legs. For a split-second Xan envied the monk. He shuddered and banished the disgusting notion. Damn that fortune teller for planting such a horrible idea into his brain. After a while Cat glared and pawed at Viconia, apparently annoyed that she was not being petted, but she made no move to untie them. Xan moaned. "She doesn't understand. This is how it ends! I am going to starve to death slowly, and worse, I am going to do it with you."

"My one compensation," replied Viconia acidly, "Is that I have a stronger constitution than you, which affords me the very great pleasure of watching you die first."

They glared at each other in the dark, then almost at the same time they started screaming for help.

Back in the main fairground, Rasaad and Arrow did not prove hard for the others to find. Though neither the monk nor the ranger were likely to openly acknowledge it, their evening had quickly turned into something resembling a date. Since they were both hungry they'd headed straight for the food wagons and ordered a tray of roast meat which they ate over a small bench. Now they were sharing dessert.

"This is amazing," sighed Arrow. "It's a pity Cat ran off, she'd have loved this. I hope she's ok."

"I am sure she can take care of herself," replied Rasaad. Privately he did not think it was a shame at all that the animal-like Sharran had run off, and was hoping she might not come back.

"I guess you'll be headed back to Calimport when we're done looking into the Dark Moon cult?" she asked. She tried to make it sound like a casual question but Rasaad thought he detected some strain in her tone.

"Perhaps," he said, without enthusiasm, "I have nowhere else to go."

"You're always welcome to travel with us, but I don't know where we'll go next either," she said. "We have no leads on the iron crisis except for this Freya, and to be honest she seems to be managing just fine on her own. I suppose Imoen will insist though."

"You don't sound like you want to," he said.

"Neither do you."

Rasaad looked about him at the people enjoying the fair, laughing, eating and milling around. Their faces were lit up by strings of multicoloured lanterns that hung between each tent. There were a lot of families, contented (though sometimes stressed) looking men with their wives and children. He had been happiest with his family. Once staying with the only family he had left, his brother, meant remaining in the monastery. Now going back there meant committing to never having a family again.

"I cannot bring myself to go back," he admitted, "Perhaps it is not for me. Had Gamaz lived it might have been different. His certainty guided me whenever I waivered. Yet now he is gone and following his footprints is no longer an option. I must find my own way."

A dangerous little seed of hope started sprouting in Arrow's chest. Every time it had crossed her mind, or Imoen had teased her about Rasaad, she had struck the idea down with the same mantra. _He is a monk._ It sounded, maybe, like he might be considering not being a monk. Under the disguise of making a joke she probed a little further.

"So what's putting you off?" she teased lightly, "Is it, erm… the usual reason energetic young men tend not to find monastic life appealing?" Rasaad laughed and shook his head.

"Romantic relationships are rare in my order, but they are not technically forbidden," he said.

"Technically?" asked Arrow.

"Though not forbidden, such things are not looked upon favourably. I knew a monk once who was roundly castigated for his relationship with a woman of, ah, negotiable affection. He was trying to lead her down the path of the Sun Soul and got led somewhere very different. It cost him many friends in the order, but he seemed to have few regrets," Rasaad explained. "Not that my own situation is in any way comparable," he added hastily, as Arrow raised an eyebrow. "I meant only to say that while romantic relationships are complicated for men of my faith, that alone would not necessarily result in my having to leave the Order. If er… that were the only reason."

"I see," said Arrow, who didn't really see but did not want to appear too interested by enquiring further. At length, to move the subject slightly away from more intimate matters she asked, "Will they be angry?"

Rasaad smiled a little.

"I think not," he replied. "A little disappointed maybe, but they expect most of the younger members of the Order to leave eventually. It is one of the reasons they send less experienced initiates out on missions like the one we went on to Athkatla. It is a risk, one my brother paid heavily for, but it also provides an opportunity for the young monks to experience life outside of the monastery. That way when we take our final vows we can be sure that we are doing the right thing. They sent ten of us out. They never expected that ten would return."

"Were you considering not returning when you left?" she asked.

"No!" said Rasaad emphatically. "I was not, but then nobody who leaves ever does."

They got up and wandered around the carnival, chatting idly about their lives in Candlekeep and Calimport and weighing up the pros and cons of taking Imoen to Baldur's Gate. Although she did not come right out and say so, Rasaad got the impression that Arrow viewed meeting Freya as a significant con, though he struggled to put his finger on quite why. They paused by a puppet show. The children were at the front in a semi-circle, cheering as a large golden wolf puppet swallowed large numbers of bandits. He paid them little attention, he was too preoccupied with watching her.

She had thick brown wavy hair, the same colour as her eyes. Sometimes Imoen would braid it for her, complaining bitterly about how impossible it was to get a comb through it, though more often when she was in a hurry she pulled it back into a wild ponytail. Today it was loose and spilling down her shoulders. Her carnival mask hid a smattering of freckles which covered her longish nose and angular cheeks. She had the toned athletic build of someone who was used to outdoor exercise, but at the same time was not accustomed to missing meals. Arrow was aware of his eyes on her and intentionally stood slightly in front of him. She was aware that hers was a figure which attracted more attention from behind.

This is where the others found them. Rasaad jumped guiltily at the sound of Jaheira's voice and her half-smirk, half-glare suggested to him that the direction of his gaze had not gone unnoticed. Any secret annoyance that Arrow might have felt at being interrupted evaporated when the others explained why they were there. She had no desire to get into a fight with Montaron and his crazy friend.

She did, however, feel bad for Imoen. The pink haired girl looked incredibly despondent at having come so close to finding Freya and losing her.

"It's ok Immy," she said in a resigned tone. "I have a way to find Freya. We can send her a message and you can meet up with her."

"Seriously?" cried Imoen, her eyes lighting up, "I thought the others couldn't hear you in the dreams! Why didn't you say so before?"

"They can't but there is another way," Arrow sighed. "And I didn't say anything before because it is really going to hurt. I was keeping it for a last resort but if you want to see her that badly, we'll do it. We should leave it a couple of hours though. Just to make sure she's asleep."

"What do you… oh," said Imoen. Arrow nodded. She had been keeping this idea in reserve, hoping that she would not have to use it. The dreams were always triggered by violent events in the Candlekeep orphans' lives. She'd had several days now to mull over some of the implications of her dream-people being real and it occurred to her that she might be able to trigger a dream in Freya's mind by injuring herself deliberately. Then she could speak, and Freya would hear her. She would have to hurt herself quite badly though. Blood and broken limbs were probably a requirement.

"Oh thank you, thank you Arrow!" Imoen cried and threw her arms around her neck. Arrow was not used to being hugged and patted her back awkwardly. "I feel so bad for letting you do this, but she's my best friend, I miss her so much!"

There was a very awkward pause and the rest of the group backed off a bit. All except for Minsc, who seemed highly impressed by Jaheira's performance with the Wheel of Fortune and was still following them.

"I am also on a quest to find my best friend!" he boomed, "Let us join forces and find them together!"

"I thought _I_ was your best friend!" said Arrow, stung.

"You thought you were my _only_ friend," corrected Imoen. "But you were hardly ever around what with prowling outside the castle all day hunting deer and talking to sparrows. Besides you have to remember I am what I was made of; fragments of your souls. Freya is my favourite person in the world partly because _Freya_ is Freya's favourite person. Whereas you don't like yourself at all, which sometimes makes it very hard for me to like you either. Because part of me is you. Do you see what I mean?"

"No, not really," said Arrow, still looking hurt.

"Look at it this way. Where are you going to go now?" sighed Imoen. "Were you planning on coming with me to Baldur's Gate? Or are you off to hunt the Dark Moon sect with Rasaad?"

"I… I'm sorry Imoen," said Arrow.

"Don't be," Imoen smiled. "Because that means I'm not your best friend either."

"I guess not."

Imoen hugged her again, whispering in her ear so that only she could hear her, "But I am still your good friend and it's only a tiny piece of me that hates you. The piece that came from you. The rest of me loves you Arrow."

"I love you too Immy," said Arrow. "Just do me a favour would you, take Cat when you go?"

"Take Cat?!" yelped Imoen, so loudly that Arrow sprang back, her ear ringing.

"Excellent idea!" cut in Minsc happily, though he had never met Cat and had no idea what he was letting himself in for. "Minsc and Imoen and Cat will find Freya and Dynaheir!"

"Bad idea!" corrected Imoen. "That thing: a Sharran cat. Freya: a Selunite canine. Do I have to draw a picture? It won't end well for the cat!"

"Freya is a Selunite, like Rasaad?" asked Khalid curiously, having re-joined the conversation now that the awkward part was over.

"I wouldn't say _exactly_ like Rasaad," Imoen smirked, "But yeah, she follows Selune. I mean Gorion enlisted those two Selunite monks to help her to get a grip on the transformations after she was bitten. Traded them access to the library and in exchange they practically raised her. She lived with them for over a decade, she's no monk but she's definitely one of them."

Arrow frowned. They couldn't take Cat with them to attack the Dark Moon cult. Not after seeing how she'd rushed to Viconia's aid before. The monk was so brainwashed to defend Sharrans that she would turn on them, and they'd end up having to kill her again. Suddenly Khalid looked up and snapped his fingers.

"F- F- Friendly Arm!" he exclaimed. They stared at him. "Tell Freya you want to meet at the Friendly Arm Inn and take Cat to live there, There's no way the cult would go to the effort of taking on the Mirrorshade family just to get to Cat!"

The ranger could have hugged him. It was perfect, being both large and well protected with plenty of surrounding woods for Cat to explore. Nobody would attack her there despite her strange appearance because of the Friendly Arm's strict rules about fighting.

"Would they accept her?" she asked Khalid hopefully.

"I think so," he replied, "Bentley and Gellana are old friends. We'll pen Imoen a note to take with her."

"That's a wonderful idea Khalid!" Imoen gushed. Arrow looked up and scowled. The girl had been giving feeble excuses not to take Cat with her when she'd suggested it.

"Excuse me," said Minsc to Imoen. "Boo would like to know if we may join you? You will need protection walking these dangerous roads and better yet, you and Freya may aid in rescuing my charge Dynaheir! There is glory enough for all!"

"Are you talking to that hamster?" asked Jaheira doubtfully.

"Boo is my faithful animal companion and more than he seems," replied Minsc. The druid looked unconvinced. On the one hand she would feel better if Imoen had a bodyguard for the trip. Cat was strong, but unpredictable and tended to wander off. On the other hand, she was not entirely comfortable sending the girl off with not just one, but two lunatics.

"It is your decision Imoen," she said, neutrally.

"Isn't Boo just the cutest fuzzy wuzzy?" smiled Imoen. Minsc beamed. "Alright we've got a deal!"

"What if Freya doesn't agree to help him?" asked Jaheira sharply. "Don't go making promises you might not be able to keep!"

"She'll help," said Imoen with certainty. "The classic dilemma of the damsel in distress! How could she decline? She won't. Trust me, I know Freya and this sort of quest will be right up her alley. I'm a bit worried about this message though. What if Freya gets up in the night to go for a pee or brings some random stranger back to her bedroll and misses it?"

"Every time we fight I'll repeat it," Arrow reassured her. "Just wait at the Friendly Arms. She'll get the message eventually."

"Take heart fellow adventurers," cried Minsc, "For you have curried the favour of Boo, the only miniature giant space hamster in the realm. My friend and companion ever since my h- h- head wound, he will lead us to victory! Onward to the Friendly Arms, and from there to the gnoll stronghold in the west! Tarry not! We must go soon!"


	14. A Necromancer's Tale

"What will you do? If we get out, I mean?" asked Eric, propping himself up on one elbow.

Arrow scowled. It had been Imoen's suggestion that she take a nap before trying to contact Freya. After all, there was no point breaking her limbs to trigger the dreams if the werewolf was already dreaming about Eric instead. It was very strange to think that Freya might be here too, floating beside her, as invisible to Arrow as they both were to the necromancer. She wondered if, like her, the werewolf would prefer to be having her limbs broken than watching this.

Eric was shirtless and in bed with Bubbles. This wasn't any great surprise. Arrow had gathered from previous dreams that the two of them were close. Seeing them like this however, made her feel like a dirty peeping Tom, albeit an extremely reluctant one. She shut her eyes and hummed loudly, but Bubbles had a naturally carrying voice.

" _When_ Eric," corrected the courtesan sternly, picking up a strand of his long black hair and fiddling with it. " _When_ we get out. I've been asking around. Shank and Carbos are with us, and the genie has agreed to make sure they don't get pitted against you until we're ready."

Eric clasped his hands to his bare chest and gasped theatrically. "Shank and Carbos are with us? Oh, Bubbles can it be? Truly our worries are over!" he exclaimed launching himself joyfully into a sitting position. His sarcasm earned him a grubby pillow to the face.

"Some allies are better than none!" Bubbles pouted. "They are on your side I promise, they really are!" Eric laughed at this. She folded her arms and scowled at him. "Care to share the joke?"

"I know Shank and Carbos are on my side, beautiful. They're undead," he grinned, leaning forward to stroke her cheek. "The stupid oafs tried to murder me in Candlekeep months ago. I finished them easily enough, but I figured a couple of bodyguards might come in handy on the trip to Thay, so I raised them up again. Turns out they are as useless in death as they were in life, seeing as they let me get captured, and here I am. I'm surprised you didn't notice. I thought their stench was a dead giveaway."

"I hate to break this to you Eric, but all you pit fighters smell terrible," scowled Bubbles, smacking him with the pillow again. "And those two seem awfully articulate for zombies."

"Good, aren't they?" he said, with a hint of pride. "I was working on them for weeks. I can't take all the credit, I had to get an Illusionist to help with their appearance and voices. They're top quality though. Not like those eight-hour skeletons raised in the heat of battle. Shank and Carbos ought to last for at least another couple of years, so long as that vandal Baeloth doesn't destroy them in the pits. Forget about them though. I want to know; what will you do when you get out?" pressed Eric, snatching the pillow and shoving it behind him.

"Well... I was a courtesan before," mused Bubbles, " So I expect I'll be one again."

"Then what's the difference?" sighed Eric, flopping back on the pillow. She smiled and draped herself over him, still playing with his hair.

"Well the clients smell better most of the time, I get to do shorter hours, keep most of my money, have a life outside of work," she listed, running her heavily painted nails over his bare chest. "Why Eric, do you want to whisk me off my feet and make an honest woman of me?" she teased in a faux-posh voice. Eric shrugged, and Bubbles kissed his nose. "Get me out of this hell hole and I might consider it. As long as you don't get hooked on those numbing potions. I don't do junkies."

If Arrow had been wondering when the violence in this dream was going to start, she was not kept waiting long. The door to the grubby cell burst open and through it flew a swarm of biting, stinging insects. They hurtled bullet-like at the surprised pair. Eric flipped Bubbles over and tried to shield her with his body, but the creatures were so small that his efforts were futile. Her skin was raw, and she was screaming in pain by the time Baeloth called them off.

"What do you two think you are doing?" bellowed the furious drow, his red eyes flashing. "You are here to please paying clients, not each other! If you want her company, Bhaalspawn, you can pay for it with your prize money like everybody else does!"

"I… I was only instructing him!" gasped Bubbles sitting up, "That he might better please the patrons!"

"Your whinging whore believes I was whelped yesterday!" Baeloth sneered nastily, "Perhaps a whipping would rectify her wrong impression?" Eric's expression was one of a man who would give absolutely anything to be able to unleash his powers but something, probably a geas, was preventing him. "Your favourite patron wishes to see you again. I imagine he will be quite angry if you arrive in his room having already spent yourself with this one. Get dressed and get down the corridor. Don't dare keep him waiting!"

The drow slave master turned on his heel and stalked out. He left a few insects buzzing angrily around the heads of his slaves. Every so often they flinched as one of them got stung. Bubbles placed a placating hand on the young necromancer's arm. He turned to her furiously.

"Do you have them?" he demanded.

"Yes but..." said Bubbles hesitantly.

"I need them. Give them to me," he said. It was a command, not a request, but still the courtesan looked uncertain. "I need the numbing potions, please. Whatever he is trying to do to me, he won't succeed as long as I keep taking them. Apparently, he can't 'unlock my potential' if I can't feel emotions properly. Especially hate and anger. I don't know exactly what it is he wants with me, but it isn't anything good! Believe me, I know evil magic when I see it." Bubbles bit her lip but still did not move.

"Trust me," said Eric in a low whisper. He glanced back nervously at the door, then beckoned her to him. She shuffled forward curiously, wrapping herself up in her blankets. Focussing all his energy he concentrated, fighting the power of Baeloth's slave-geas. A weak crackle of sparks sprang from his palm.

"You can work your spells in here!" she gasped in a delighted whisper. Eric flopped back exhausted, beads of sweat prickling on his forehead.

"Not properly, not yet, but I'm working on it," he panted. Bubbles looked at him in awed admiration. "The stuff the hooded man is doing to me hurts, gods it hurts, but he is making me stronger. I'm starting to be able to fight back against Baeloth's sorcery. The hooded man says he wants me to escape from Baeloth's Pits, so he can make me his apprentice."

"Really?" gasped Bubbles, "That's wonderful!"

"Yeah. Sounds just a bit too good to be true doesn't it?" retorted Eric darkly, "Which means it is. Chasing an apprenticeship is what landed me here in the first place, but I learn from my mistakes. Think about it; this is far too much effort for such a powerful man to go to for a student. He has to be up to something. When we first met, he said he wanted to see me because of my father, Bhaal. That'll have something to do with it. Now you listen to me Bubbles. We need the hooded man to escape from Baeloth, but I need you to escape from him. Keep bringing me the potions and _trust me._ I know what I'm doing."

Bubbles nodded, finally convinced. She got up and picked up her abandoned skirt from the floor. She turned it inside out. Each pleat of the skirt contained a tiny hidden pocket. From one of them she slipped a pair of miniature grey bottles. Eric took them and swallowed the content of one with a little shudder. He tucked the second into his boot.

"No sweetheart, not too many," he whispered as she tried to hand him another. "They'll confiscate them if they find them on me. And I don't want you to keep them on you from now on. Baeloth will kill you if he catches you supplying them to me. Give them to the genie to hold instead."

"Won't he tell Baeloth?" she fretted.

"Baeloth told him to find out how I was getting the potions, but he forgot to tell him to actually do anything about it when he did. That genie is a master of finding loopholes in the geas. I have to go now," he said, kissing her. Bubbles handed him his shirt and watched him leave anxiously.

"Arrow! Arrow! It's time!"

Arrow woke with a gasp. She was curled up in a patch of straw behind one of the tents. Imoen was shaking her bodily. Thank Ilmater they woke her up before Eric got to the hooded man. She sat up shaking her head. Imoen slumped, looking disappointed.

"I'm sorry Immy, we'll have to put it off," said Arrow. "Eric triggered a dream already. Smart idea to check first though. We'd have been cutting me up for nothing otherwise." Imoen looked despondent. "Listen Immy, you can still head for the Friendly Arm Inn with Minsc tomorrow morning. As soon as I can, I'll let Freya know."

"We have a more immediate problem," interrupted Jaheira. They had all taken their masks off now, and her expression looked strained. "Xan and Viconia have vanished, I can't find them anywhere."

There was an uncomfortable silence as they all thought the same thing. After all, Viconia had tried to kill Xan once before. They had all treated him like he was being ridiculous, even cowardly, for fearing she would do it again. Now it was looking increasingly likely that his terror had been justified, and the evil drow had dragged him off to his doom after all.

"Where is Cat?" fretted Arrow.

"No idea," frowned Jaheira. Imoen perked up a little. If the Sharran had run away there would be no need to take her to the Friendly Arm. "We'd better find them though. Everyone's gone home except for the performers and a few drunks in the beer tent. Arrow, you're our ranger, can you track them?"

"Boo can track them!" exclaimed Minsc, producing his hamster proudly. Jaheira was not the only one looking extremely sceptical. He placed the fluffy rodent on the ground and immediately Boo scurried out into the night. It was darker now. Most of the fairground lights were extinguished, though the moonless sky was glittering with stars. "Wait for us Boo, you are hard to see in this light!"

Letting the hamster roam free proved an effective strategy, though not for the reason Minsc thought. They followed it through the dark and cold, around in circles for what seemed like hours. Imoen was just about to suggest that they wake up the fortune teller, and ask her to divine the pair's location, when Cat found the party. It turned out that while little Boo might be lacking in tracking ability, he served as excellent bait.

"Nooooo!" roared Minsc, launching himself bodily at Cat and intercepting her before she could eat his best friend. The Sharran monk was far too agile for him and dodged, spitting, but the distraction gave Boo the opportunity to crawl back up his trouser leg.

"Cat!" cried Arrow in relief. Rasaad and Imoen exchanged a resigned look. "Where's Xan? Where's Viconia? Can you take me to them?" Once again, Cat demonstrated her unwillingness or inability (it was hard to tell which) to follow instructions. Besides something else more interesting had caught the Sharran's eye. It was Xzar and Montaron sneaking off toward the fairground exit.

"After them!" yelled Khalid, and the party charged. Hopelessly outnumbered, the Zhents tried to run but Xzar tripped over his robes and the halfling only had little legs in the first place. Cat and Rasaad reached them first. The Selunite failed to dodge Montaron's dagger and was stabbed in the abdomen. He grunted in pain but managed to kick the halfling between the legs (a move that Arrow was fairly sure he did not learn in the monastery) and grab him in a headlock. Cat leaped onto Xzar, who fended her off with a wooden staff as she lunged at his face with her claw-like nails. Jaheira pulled the dagger out of Rasaad's stomach, causing him to cry out much more loudly than when it went in. Blood began pouring onto the ground and he released the halfling's neck.

Jaheira was distracted by healing Rasaad, but Montaron was unable to press his advantage to get away. He found his throat sandwiched uncomfortably between the swords of Minsc and Khalid. There was no way for him to reach either of the men without decapitating himself. He snarled in frustration.

"Where are they?" yelled Khalid, red in the face.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Montaron spat.

"Let me," suggested Arrow, raising her bow. Despite having been killed by Arrow once before, Montaron did not feel very threatened by this. His death in the Nashkel mines had been a mistake. He had the ranger down as a bit of a soft touch, who was probably about to try to act tough with him. He was sure that if he kept protesting his innocence, she would weaken and set him free. That was, until she shot a fire arrow directly into his kneecap. The halfling screamed in shock, pain and fury. Minsc and Khalid withdrew their swords to avoid slicing his head off as he fell to the ground howling. "Freya, if you're watching this, Imoen wants to talk to you!" said Arrow, loudly.

"Oh! Yeah!" cried Imoen. "Freya it's me!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake child, if she can see this then she knows it's you!" snapped Jaheira, as Arrow loosed another burning shot into Montaron's shin. This time his pants caught alight. He yanked out the arrow and rolled from side to side to put it out, bellowing threats. Some of the obscener things he suggested doing to Arrow provoked Rasaad into throwing in a kick of his own. The halfling, fire quenched, curled into a ball like a very ugly hedgehog.

As Imoen spoke to thin-air, informing Freya of her plan to meet her in the Friendly Arm, Cat finally wrestled the stick from Xzar and bit him on the cheek. He let out a high-pitched scream and struggled wildly, but Cat held on and when she released him her fangs were dripping with his blood.

"They're under the jousting stands now leave us alone!" pleaded Xzar. Satisfied, Jaheira hauled Cat bodily off of the mad wizard. The Sharran snarled in disappointed rage.

"Khalid dear, go and fetch them," she instructed. "I'll stay here with these two in case it turns out they're lying."

With Jaheira keeping a firm grip on her collar, Cat lost interest in Xzar and began sniffing around Minsc's crotch instead, presumably in search of Boo. The berserker frowned and cuffed her over her tattooed head. She scratched his hand lightly and sprang back, but her dyed black eyes remained fixed on the region where she believed the hamster to be.

"You bite me there, animal-lady, and you and I will no longer be friends," Minsc warned her. Cat stared at the bulge which she believed to be Boo and licked her lips.

Meanwhile, tied up under the jousting stalls, the captives were getting to know each other better. It was not doing their relationship any good.

"Could you possibly take a break from hissing at me like a possessed cobra long enough for me to finish my sentence?" yelled Xan.

"Moronic male!" she shouted, "If I try to summon the flame blade with my hands tied like this it will touch the canvass. We'd both be roasted alive!"

"I could rub my wrists over it and cut my ropes!" he tried to explain again. "If I can just get my hands loose, I can free the rest of me."

"I doubt it!" replied Viconia loudly, "You're so weak you'd lose an arm-wrestling match with a fish!"

"Fish don't have arms!" bellowed Xan, "That insult doesn't even make sense!"

Khalid began to feel a little apprehensive as he approached the jousting stands. Their conflict was loud enough to hear from this distance and it reminded him of his own marital arguments. His and Jaheira's fights tended to be more one sided of course.

"You are in no position to talk about missing appendages!"

"Oh… now we're back to insulting my manhood, well that's original!"

"Erm… e- e- excuse me?" ventured Khalid, lifting the tent flap.

"Thank the gods," moaned Xan, "One more minute in the company of this bloody drow and I would have been begging Montaron to come back and finish me off!"

"That could still be arranged!" she yelled. They were both beetroot red, still in their carnival masks, hair strewn over their angry faces. Whether they were out of breath from the effort of trying to free themselves or screaming at each other was hard to say.

"I c- could come back and rescue you later if this is a b- bad time?" stammered Khalid. Viconia composed herself a little.

"Thank you, Khalid," she said formally, as he sliced through her bonds. "At least we have one man in the group who knows how to wield his weapon. I expect we would have been trapped here for ever if it were up to this poor advert for masculinity." She wrinkled her nose at Xan. Parts of him wanted to launch himself at her throat the second he was freed… though the different parts of him had wildly conflicting ideas about what he should do once he had her. Instead he settled for pulling himself to his feet and striding out into the night air.

Soon Khalid came back to the party bringing the dishevelled mage and cleric with him. They were both exhausted and had screamed themselves hoarse, but when Viconia set eyes on Montaron, still curled on the ground she seemed to regain her energy. Without warning anybody first, she summoned her flame blade and struck her helpless enemy between the eyes. Everybody jumped backward in surprise.

"You bastards killed Monty _again!_ " howled Xzar. Then he shrugged, "No denying he does bring out the worst in people."

Xan was staring at Viconia with an expression of horrified fascination. If she could strike like that without warning or permission, in front of the whole group, what was preventing her from slitting his throat quietly while he slept? There was nothing for it, the drow would have to go.

They left Xzar behind them, talking to Montaron's corpse. Looking back, Viconia and Arrow saw the pair being approached by the same red-robed wizard who had claimed the gold from the Wheel of Fortune earlier. Presumably he meant to help them and the crazed necromancer would have his friend revived at the earliest opportunity. It also seemed likely that the pair would attack them again given the chance. Killing Xzar too and leaving their corpses in the middle of a fair for no apparent reason, however, was likely to attract the attention of the Flaming Fist. Especially now that there was a witness. Vengeful as she was, even Viconia did not want that.

That night Xan did not sleep at all, but it was not fear of the Zhents that was keeping him up. It was fear of Viconia. There was no point walking back to the inn, since it was already the middle of the night, so they pitched their tents a short distance from the carnival. He kept his eyes fixed on the tent flap, jumping at the slightest sound, in case the drow was coming for him. On the other side of the tent, Rasaad was breathing heavily, soundly asleep. The monk had seemed in an unusually happy mood as he settled down for the night. Xan hadn't asked him why.

That was something he appreciated in having Rasaad as a bunk mate. The monk wanted to meditate, and he needed to study his spell books, so they spent most evenings in companionable silence. At first, he had thought that sharing a tent with him wasn't going to work. When they first began travelling together, Rasaad had squirmed constantly in a most irritating fashion, but that had turned out to be lice. Those same lice were now plaguing Xzar and Montaron. Xan took some comfort from that.

Viconia was not at all afraid of Xan, but she was already fed up with having him around. When morning came, she said as much to the others over breakfast, ignoring the fact that he was sitting right opposite her.

"Hey, you could always travel with me to meet Freya," Imoen suggested brightly. "Come to Baldur's Gate and fight the Iron Throne!"

"I dislike surface cities," replied Viconia, "They are packed with hostile fools, who could easily turn into a mob. I also wonder whether I would fit into the party of this 'Freya' woman. The loyalty that comes from male lust can be most useful. If she is truly as beautiful as everyone says I expect she employs the same strategy. I doubt she would appreciate the competition."

The drow's words earned her a disapproving glare from Jaheira and some shocked stares from some of the naiver members of the party. Imoen, however, snorted and choked on her biscuit.

"Why is that funny?" snapped the drow.

"I really, _really_ doubt Freya would see you as 'competition'," the pink haired girl answered.

"Then she is a fool," retorted Viconia. "Perhaps she may really be even more physically appealing than I am. I find this unlikely, given that she is a rivvil, but it is not impossible. Even so, males are fickle creatures who enjoy variety."

For some reason, Imoen looked like solstice had come early. "Arrow? You have to promise me something; never let Viconia and Freya meet each other without me being there," giggled Imoen, her eyes wide with mischief.

"Erm, ok," said Arrow. "Any particular reason?"

"No reason," said Imoen grinning broadly. "I just think it might be fun to watch is all. Freya also has… a very high opinion of her own physical merits."

Viconia scowled and shook her head as the party prepared to part ways. She was relieved. Fond though she was of Cat, the tent was not nearly big enough for the two of them and Arrow and Imoen. The downside was that until they had chance to buy the Harpers a tent of their own, Jaheira would be joining her and Arrow. Khalid, Rasaad and Xan would share the other tent. The third tent, at Jaheira's insistence, would be taken by Imoen and Cat. She did not feel it was appropriate for them to share a tent with Minsc, though the berserker did not seem to understand why not.

As they redistributed their gold, gems and equipment, Imoen began to look a little sad. Rasaad noticed and decided to distract her by asking a question he had been pondering ever since they had found out what she was.

"Why did Gorion give you a body?" he asked abruptly.

"What?" replied Imoen, stealing Arrow's soap and shoving considerably more than her fair share of biscuits into her backpack.

"I was wondering why Gorion chose to give you a mortal form when he created you from pieces of his ward's souls," said Rasaad. "You say you were made so that his children would have just enough awareness of each other not to do accidental damage. Yet your ability to wander about puts you at constant risk of being destroyed. Why did he not form you into a crystal or some other artefact and lock you away in a crypt? It would have been much safer."

"Thanks a bunch," said Imoen sarcastically.

"It would only have been safer until somebody stole her," pointed out Xan. "Crystallized souls? I know of some dark wizards who could find horrible uses for an artefact like that."

"Besides preventing accidents between the orphans wasn't my only job," said Imoen, "I was also there to plug the memory holes."

"What do you mean?" asked Khalid.

"Ok so... so say it's coming up to full moon," began Imoen, giving an example, "Freya goes all canine and pinches a ham from the larder. The monks _know_ it was Gorion's ward who savaged their lunch, so they drag Freya to the warden for a scolding, right? Only when they get there, the warden is already yelling at Arrow for sneaking over the walls after sundown."

"I see the problem," said Rasaad. "The two memories are incompatible. Gorion's ward could not have been both outside the walls and stealing from the kitchens."

"That's just one example, that sort of thing happened all the time. So the Candlekeep monks ended up with all these conflicting memories. That's partly what I was for. Gorion used my image to fill in the gaps. _Imoen_ stole the ham. _Imoen_ summoned those skeletons. _Imoen_ shot an arrow through the temple window for the eighth time this year."

"That doesn't seem fair," said Rasaad.

"Gorion saw me as a tool he had made, not a real person," shrugged Imoen, a shadow crossing her face. "What's the point of being fair to a pocket watch?"

"You are a real p- person," said Khalid gently, "And we c- care about you even if Gorion didn't. My father didn't have a very h- high opinion of me either, but you will move on given time." Imoen hugged him. She knew he didn't mean that he cared for her the way she really wanted him to, but she would be leaving shortly. Indulging in one cuddle couldn't do any harm.

"Yes. You will forget about him given time. And _distance,_ " said Jaheira pointedly. There was a certain edge in her voice that made Imoen think she was not really talking about Gorion. The thief could take a hint. She let go of Khalid and picked up her pack.

"Ready Minsc? Is Boo all packed?" she asked bracingly. Minsc was indeed ready, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation. "Ready Cat? I've got all the biscuits!"

"Oh bye, bye baby," sighed Viconia sadly, scratching behind Cat's ears and kissing her nose, "I wish I could keep you! Yes, I do, yes, I do, give mummy a goodbye kiss."

Cat slurped Viconia affectionately, and the drow was the only one who was really sorry to see her go. Even Arrow felt some relief. She ought to feel sadder about Imoen leaving but her thoughts were troubled by her dream of Eric. In particular the whole Bhaalspawn business. Initially she had assumed that it was something Baeloth had made up to draw a bigger audience to the fighting pit, but from his conversation with Bubbles it was clear that Eric believed it too.

_We were all taken together from the same Bhaal temple. If Eric is really a Bhaalspawn, maybe all of us are._

It was a disturbing idea, though Arrow still found this less horrific than the story Gorion had let her believe. That her mother had been the love of his life, carrying another man's child and that she had killed her by being born. She had never felt close to Gorion, largely for that reason, but in life she had revered him from a distance. Since his death, the discovery of how he had lied to her and mistreated Imoen was making that respect evaporate.

"Imoen wait up a second!" she called, running after them.

"What's up?" asked Imoen. The rest of the party, except Minsc and Cat were out of earshot.

"Before you go, just quickly," said Arrow breathlessly, "I need you to tell me about Eric."

Imoen's face darkened. "Why? What did he do?"

"Nothing he didn't think he had to," said Arrow carefully. "Why that reaction? You ask me a lot how Freya is doing, but you rarely mention him. How come?"

"Because I'm not sure I want to know. Don't get me wrong, I love Eric," she sighed, "I mean I adore all of you, I have to. That's what I was created to do, but… I used to worry about him."

"Why?" Arrow pressed.

"Not all of the kids Gorion rescued from that temple grew up to be of good alignment like you and Afoxe and Draxle," said Imoen, still frowning. "Most of you did, but not all. Some of you ended up more neutral, like Freya, and two of the orphans actually turned evil. Thorg was one, but he's dead now. Eric was the other. He was smart, gods, was he ever smart. Ambitious too and he studied so hard. When visitors spoke to him they were always super-impressed and Gorion was dead proud of him. He let him have as close to unrestricted use of the library as any of the ordinary monks had. Unfortunately, with so many other kids to chase after he didn't pay enough attention to _what_ Eric was reading or _which_ visitors he was talking to. Next thing we knew he'd accepted an apprenticeship with a necromancer in Thay and booked himself passage on some dodgy pirate ship!"

"Bet Gorion loved that," muttered Arrow.

"Gorion was heartbroken," Imoen said. "He pleaded with him not to go. Offered him the best apprenticeships money could buy to study any other branch of magic, but Eric wouldn't budge. They had this huge nasty fight. Eric said he was going to become a lich and live forever. I don't know whether he really meant it, but I'll never forget Gorion's face. He marched right out and started tearing apart his son's room. Dunno what he found in there, but he went berserk."

"Shank and Carbos probably," muttered Arrow.

"Huh?"

"Eric made a pair of zombies," Arrow explained, "Not regular ones though, he got help from an illusionist. They're pretty advanced stuff. Apparently they can pass as human if you don't sniff too closely."

"That'd do it," nodded Imoen, "Explains why he never let me into his bedroom. I thought he was just doing normal teenage boy stuff in there... Anyway, Gorion threw the kid a travellers' robe and a bag of gold and warned him never to set foot in Candlekeep again. I wanted to go after Eric and talk him back, or at least say goodbye, but Gorion locked me in my room. He flew into a terrible rage if I ever mentioned Eric's name after that. That was the last I saw of him."

"You still wanted to say goodbye to him," said Arrow, "But you're good aligned and he was a budding necromancer. Didn't that bother you at all?"

"It bothers me," said Imoen, "But he's part of me, and I still love him. Is he ok?"

"Yes," lied Arrow. "Eric is fine."

Imoen beamed and the two girls hugged goodbye. Cat, Minsc and Imoen resumed heading away up the path. Every so often, Cat pressed her nose a little too close to Boo's favourite hiding place and the berserker had to swat her away. Arrow watched them leave with a sad smile until Rasaad came up behind her and placed a hand gently on her arm. The Cloud Peak mountains awaited them to the South, and it was time to go.


	15. Road to the Cloud Peaks

"You dare to threaten me? I've met more intimidating squirrels!" declared Viconia, with a dismissive wave at Xan.

"They're at it again," sighed Khalid to Rasaad.

It was nearing lunchtime and Xan and Viconia were already on their third fight of the day. The drow cleric had healed Xan's burned feet the day before as gratitude to the rest of the party for saving her, despite the fact that he had self-inflicted his injury whilst trying to attack her. She was of the opinion that this selfless act compensated for her attempt in Beregost to strip him naked and kill him with fire. Xan passionately disagreed.

Fortunately for Viconia, the party had an imperious and dominating female leader, which was familiar territory for any drow. She consequently slapped down the whining wizard at every opportunity and focussed her attention on endearing herself to Jaheira and the Ilmatari ranger.

"I thank you," she said, keeping her countenance convincingly meek. "I know that some of you may not be willing to give me a chance because of my dark skin. I am a drow, but if you give me a chance you won't regret it. May I stay with you? I need friends now more than ever."

"How dare you? Your skin has nothing to do with it!" barked Xan. "You tried to spit roast me with your flaming sword in a back alley! Why is everybody else ok with this?"

"Maybe they are thinking I would have done the group a favour by ridding them of such a pitiful little wretch," the drow suggested sharply, "And trust me, if I ever decide to roast your back alley, you'll know!"

"Then there's that small issue of what you did to Montaron," he went on, "Barbequing his head while he was our prisoner!"

"I must concur with Xan," said Rasaad stepping forward. "It is not personal Viconia, but you are a follower of Shar. Given the mission we have undertaken, it is neither in your best interests nor ours that we travel together."

Viconia had not survived as long as she had without a talent for sensing certain weaknesses. From the way Rasaad looked at the ranger, his was obvious. Though fate had led him into a monastery at a young age it was clear, at least to someone with Viconia's experience, that he was not cut out for celibacy. She widened her eyes and stuck her chest out as far as she reasonably could, ignoring the exasperated groan this raised from Xan. She sidled up to the monk looking at him imploringly and stroking his chest. A quick downward glance confirmed that this so-called pure monk was the same as any other male. He swallowed, as he stiffened uncomfortably. Fortunately this escaped Arrow's notice, but she watched the other woman running her hands over him sensually, and baulked.

"Perhaps my entry into this group is an omen Moon Monk?" she suggested. "An invitation from Shar to step into the shadows and open yourself to all the power, and pleasures, she has to offer."

"I will never submit to the void," Rasaad replied defiantly.

"Oh, but you should, moon-child," she purred, "You can begin by submitting to one who can instruct you in the truth that lies in darkness."

She smiled at him seductively. A horrible knot formed in Arrow's throat. The ranger's physical attractiveness would most accurately be described as 'adequate'. Normally this did not bother her, but she had never had to compete with an outstandingly beautiful woman like Viconia before. At least not knowingly. If Viconia had set her sights on Rasaad, then the situation was hopeless, and she knew it.

"I- I think it is time for my meditations," Rasaad stuttered, backing out from under the drow's hand and flushing slightly.

"My, my but that one flusters easily," Viconia sneered. She missed the way the rest of the group were watching Arrow nervously to see how she would react to this. The ranger looked a little sad, but an expression of resignation settled over her face. It was Arrow who then cast the first vote in Viconia's favour. She quickly explained to the cleric exactly what they were intending to do, ignoring Rasaad's concerns that she might slip off to warn the Dark Moon cult. If, as a follower of Shar, she had a problem with this then she should leave. A twinkle appeared in the drow's red eyes, and she gave an amused chuckle.

"You don't know much about Shar do you?" she asked.

"Not really, no," replied Arrow cautiously.

"I could tell," smiled Viconia, "If you did, you would know that I have no issue at all with assisting you in purging the Dark Moon cult. Only the strongest are worthy to serve the Mistress of Night. Any who have been granted her dark favour will demonstrate it by annihilating you, or at the very least finding a way to escape and survive. If they allow you to destroy them, then they are weak and were unfit to follow Shar in the first place."

Arrow was secretly very disappointed indeed that Viconia had chosen to stay, but she sucked it up and said nothing. She had grown extremely fond of Rasaad and had been starting to hope that her feelings might be a little bit reciprocated. No man with eyes would think of her while Viconia was draping herself over him though. She supposed she had better just get used to it.

"I d- d- don't know," said Khalid. "I mean I don't want Viconia to get h- hurt but what if she t- turns on us?"

"I can't believe we're even discussing this. We can't send her out there all by herself," said Arrow dutifully, though she was privately hoping she might be outvoted. "Someone will kill her for sure."

"Well, nobody could accuse our Ilmatari of inconsistency," muttered Jaheira.

"You're dooming us all," said Xan dully. "Our quest was an exercise in futility even before, but now I fear it will claim not only our lives but also all the expendable pieces of our anatomy in gradual, agonizing increments."

The drow attached herself to the ranger's arm and looked at the rest of the party with huge scarlet eyes. Xan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Rasaad?" Arrow asked quietly. The monk grimaced and turned back to them. This follower of Shar might try to interfere with their mission to the Cloud Peaks. Worse, he was not entirely immune to her physical charms and for a split second her implied offer had seemed very appealing to him. Under the ranger's accusing stare however, he felt the bite of shame. His own weakness should not equal Viconia's death sentence, which was probably what sending her out all alone would mean.

"You are right of course," he sighed. "Forgive me Viconia, you are welcome to stay."

Viconia shot him a dazzling smile and just a hint of a wink. Arrow felt her jaw tighten. So far it was two against one. They looked to Khalid and Jaheira to decide whether the cleric should be allowed to stay. The fighter nervously told his wife that it was up to her.

" _I really hope she tells her to get lost…"_ thought Arrow, feeling like a terrible person.

"You may stay," said Jaheira coldly. "For now. But from this point on you follow my commands. No killing our captives without my permission and no making death threats to anyone in this party."

Xan's eye was starting to twitch but Jaheira's word was final. He was starting to deeply regret missing his opportunity to leave with Minsc and Imoen and defect to Freya's party. After stopping for a meal they continued South, meeting nothing more threatening along the way than a handful of gibberlings. As they slayed them, Arrow repeated Imoen's message to Freya, that she was to meet them at the Friendly Arm. By the time they stopped for camp that night the mountains were looming up ahead. There were a lot of them.

"Which mountain exactly are we aiming for?" Arrow asked Rasaad.

The monk's expression confirmed her fears. He didn't know. They weren't the highest mountains in Faerun. Altitude sickness was unlikely to be a problem. However, any single one of those peaks would take at least a day to scale and there were dozens of them, lined up like shark teeth. Viconia walked over to them and joined them in scanning the tops for some clue.

"And we are certain that they are based _on top_ of a mountain, not deep inside one?" she asked. Arrow had assumed the cult resided on one of the peaks but now that she thought about it she couldn't remember anyone specifically saying so. She glanced nervously at Rasaad.

"I see villages near the bases of the mountains," he said. "We can start by asking the locals if they have seen anything strange. The monks must come down fairly regularly. Even followers of Shar can't eat shadows."

"As good a plan as any," said Jaheira. "We will make camp here. Rasaad, go get us some firewood. Arrow, sending you hunting has always been a pointless endeavour in the past but I suppose you will only improve with practise. Let's go before it gets too dark."

To everyone's surprise Arrow actually returned half an hour later with a few grouse which Khalid and Xan set about plucking inexpertly and soon the air was thick with flying feathers. Some were still stuck to the birds when they skewered them over the campfire. They came out slightly burned and there was not much meat to go around, but even a taste made a pleasant accompaniment to the usual dried biscuits.

Viconia summoned her fiery sword. Xan threw himself backward in alarm, summoning a Flame Arrow as he went. She placed the weapon on the ground, gave him a deeply patronizing look, then balanced her plate over it to keep her food warm. The mage picked himself up and brushed his robes down, in an attempt to regain his dignity. The others, however, had not noticed. They were all laughing at a humorous story Khalid was sharing about a foolish would-be-warrior who mistook an oak for a treant.

"I don't often hear you tell jokes," said Arrow.

"It's the stammer," he admitted. "I think of p- plenty but my speech impediment interferes with the d- d- delivery."

"It is cold," Viconia complained, crossly.

"Too cold to dress like that certainly," said Jaheira dryly with a pointed look at Viconia's low-cut tunic. The drow scowled at her. "I have a woollen vest you can wear under it tonight if that helps?" The other woman nodded curtly and Jaheira brought it out to her.

Viconia did not wait to get into the tent to get changed. To the horror of the rest of the party, (Arrow especially), she shrugged off her leathers, unlaced her tunic right in front of them and took her top off. She surveyed their collective embarrassment with a smug, superior look. The cleric certainly seemed in no hurry to put her clothes back on, and Arrow wondered whether she had really been cold in the first place, or whether she was just fishing for an excuse to do this. Rasaad and Khalid looked away, turning beetroot. Xan's pupils were so wide that it was as if he'd tattooed his eyeballs like Cat. Viconia ignored the wizard however, and went straight for Rasaad.

"Would you mind helping me unclip my amulet?" she asked him, suggestively. She sat next to him, sweeping her silver hair out of the way. Rasaad made an incoherent, panicked sound. His face burned as he tried to look anywhere but at her torso. Taking advantage of his distraction, she shuffled sideways onto his lap, intentionally shifting herself to cause as much friction as possible.

"Excuse me," said Rasaad, disgusted with himself. He got to his feet abruptly, lifting Viconia by her hips in the same movement and placing her firmly upright on the ground. "I have not yet completed my evening meditations."

"And I need to memorize my spells," added Xan.

"Let him have the tent to himself Rasaad," said Viconia nastily. "He needs to go and polish his moonblade."

"My apologies," Rasaad said to Xan, as usual taking things slightly too literally. "I was not aware that this was a ritual that required privacy. I will find a place to meditate in the woods. Will an hour be sufficient?"

"An hour?" scoffed Viconia, "A minute will probably suffice!"

Xan muttered something in elfish at her under his breath and stormed into the tent, while Rasaad beat a hasty retreat into the wood.

"Practising for when we meet Freya are you?" Arrow snapped, finally losing her temper.

"What are you blathering about rivvil?" sneered Viconia.

"All that stuff you were saying to Imoen before about competing with other women and using men… that's what this ridiculous routine is about isn't it?" she challenged her.

"I don't know what you mean!" said Viconia, with a coy smile. I just needed the moon-man to help me get ready for bed."

"I have better things to do than get into a sexual pissing contest with you Viconia," snipped Arrow. "I'd never win and besides, Jaheira is the Alpha here. If you really want to establish your dominance, go rub up on Khalid."

"P- please d- d- don't," said the half-elf.

Arrow glared at the cleric, still fuming. Viconia tugged her clothes on, much to Khalid's relief as his eyes were getting rather strained from keeping them trained on his own hands.

"I meant no disrespect," she shrugged disarmingly. "How was I to know that you had claimed him for yourself so soon? Though I'm not surprised that the moon-monk's 'inner glimmer' has caught your eye. He certainly keeps himself in better condition than _that_ scrawny thing."

She jerked her thumb at the tent where Xan was memorizing his spells. Or more likely trying to think of some subtle curse to lay upon Viconia without getting caught.

"Claimed him? What are you talking about, is this another Underdark thing?" asked Arrow quickly.

"If he is supposed to be one of your males then he ought to have shown you more loyalty just now, instead of just sitting there gawping. Trust me you want to stamp out this sort of behaviour early on. You mustn't coddle him," advised Viconia sagely. "Males require a firm hand on the lash."

They finished their food in awkward silence. Arrow was restrained enough to wrap up Rasaad's for when he got back but Viconia had no qualms about taking advantage of Xan's absence to steal his dinner. The two women retreated to their tent. Arrow tried not to be too annoyed with Viconia or Rasaad. After all, he was not her boyfriend, nor had he ever directly expressed any interest in being so. If their new companion was being unnecessarily overt in her attempts to win the Selunite over, well, maybe that was just how they did things in the Underdark.

She fell into a heavy dreamless sleep. Viconia was pleasantly surprised by this. She had expected the ranger to be wary about falling asleep in her company, and yet this rivvil seemed to trust her. At least to a point. Perhaps it would be better not to seduce her monk for the time being. It had been some time since she had enjoyed the services of a competent male, but her survival was the higher priority. That meant staying on Arrow and Jaheira's good side. There would be plenty of opportunity to lure the Sun Soul virgin into Shar's embrace later.

Which left Xan as the only available man. Unacceptable. Even that addled warrior with the pet hamster from the carnival might have done at a stretch, but as it was she would have to take care of herself later. She began wishing that she had taken Imoen up on her offer to take her chances with Freya's party after all. Unbeknownst to her, and for entirely different reasons, Xan was thinking the same thing.

Rasaad, on the other hand, was barely thinking at all. His evening 'meditations' had consisted of wading, chest deep, into the nearest body of freezing water. It had the desired effect of banishing all inappropriate images from his mind. In fact, as he climbed out shivering, it drove all thoughts from his mind but one. _Cold._

He dressed as hastily as he could with numb hands and returned to the camp, just in time to see Khalid and Jaheira kiss goodnight before dispersing to their separate tents. As Arrow's guardians, the half-elves had a rather different take on the situation. Before they turned in, Jaheira had remarked to her husband that if Viconia intended to follow through with her threat to provide Arrow with sex education, they would need to discuss the birds and the bees with her first.

"In a more… healthy way," said Jaheira.

"I d- d- don't necessarily disagree m- my dear," stammered Khalid, looking petrified at the notion. "I don't expect Viconia's advice on this subject would b- be at all suitable, but-"

"Fine," huffed Jaheira. " _I_ will speak with Arrow alone."

"Oh th- thank you!" Khalid gasped with relief, as though she had just released him from a bear trap.

"Don't thank me yet," she told him with a stern smile. "I have another job for you."

Unfortunately for Rasaad, the Harpers had stamped out the campfire before turning in. He resisted the impulse to roll around in the embers to warm up. Once inside the tent, he buried himself under the blankets fully clothed, but he was shivering for a long time before he could get comfortable enough to sleep.

Almost as bad as the cold was how terribly guilty he felt. He was not interested in Viconia specifically, but he was interested in women and being subject to an open pass like that had opened a floodgate of urges he normally worked very hard at suppressing. Seamlessly Arowan replaced Viconia in the fantasies that she had triggered, and he felt horrible about it. Arrow who trusted him. Arrow who thought of him as a friend. Arrow whose sizable rear he could not help noticing whenever he was walking behind her, and whom he would much rather be sharing a tent with than these two men…

" _I am a terrible human being to think such things,"_ he told himself, grinding his teeth in the dark.

In the morning the mood of the party was as chilly as the weather. By the time they had packed up and started walking again, the drizzling rain had returned. Viconia, in particular, found this most irritating. She tried summoning her flame blade for warmth but it hissed and steamed as the raindrops hit it until in the end she banished it again. They strode along fists buried deep in their pockets, shoulders hunched and barely speaking to one another.

As they sat down to lunch Rasaad, who felt he had been neglecting his duty to show others the path of the Sun Soul of late, remarked to the group; "Do you ever stop to contemplate the moonlight reflected on water?"

"I don't have time to stop and meditate on every pond we see," sighed Xan.

"Even when busy, one should pause to reflect… if you will forgive the pun," replied Rasaad.

"You said something like that to me once before," remarked Arrow slyly, "This is a stock line isn't it? The Church of Ilmater do that too. Teach you conversation openers to reel people in so you can convert them."

"Er… well, I…" said Rasaad, a little flustered.

"It's ok Rasaad, I'll hear you out," grinned Arrow, "But I'm going to try to convert you later!"

"To Ilmater?" Viconia forgot herself, and looked revolted, "If you wish to change faiths, monk, the great Temples of Shar…"

"I do not wish to convert!" exclaimed Rasaad, loosing his aura of calm for a moment. He took a deep breath and composed himself. "I simply meant what we see as moonlight first came from the sun. From the moon, it reflects again off the water before it reaches us."

"You're starting to sound more like an astronomer than a monk," remarked Xan, ripping into a chunk of bread with his teeth and chewing morosely.

"My training at the Sun Soul monastery included much skygazing," he replied. "Observing the motion of the moon, the shards and the stars helped me understand that light connects us all,"

"Obviously not _all_ of us," remarked Viconia acidly.

"No, no of course not," he corrected himself. "Those who dwell in the Underdark are deprived of both sunlight and moonlight."

Viconia swelled like a bullfrog at this remark and drew herself up to her full height. This was still considerably shorter than Rasaad, but she was standing and he was not so she towered over him.

"We are not the least bit deprived moon-male," she spat. "The cloak of Shar envelopes us in secrets, and in secrets lie power."

Rasaad also got to his feet. He normally exuded a manner that was uncommonly calm and collected for his age, but Viconia was starting to succeed in rattling him.

"Darkness is a void, the absence of warmth, understanding and humanity!" he stated harshly.

"Humanity?!" Viconia seethed, "You rivvil are so arrogant."

Xan took another large bite of bread and watched cheerfully. It was good to see the drow turn her venomous fangs on someone else, for once. Besides Rasaad had voted for her to stay with the party mainly, Xan suspected, to impress Arrow with his tolerance. As far as the wizard was concerned this meant he deserved everything Viconia could throw at him.

He studied Arrow's face. For all the passivity she had learned from Ilmater, if Rasaad's calm could be thrown by Viconia hers certainly could. It was Arrow who had insisted the drow stay with them. If she could be sufficiently provoked that she stopped defending their new cleric it would make Viconia's expulsion from the group inevitable. Ideally before she tried to poison his food. He decided this hornet's nest could use a good poking.

"You two need to get a room," he said in a tone of voice that by his standards was almost merry. "I'm sick of all the sexual tension between you two."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Viconia. After last night of course, they all knew exactly what he meant, but she was trying hard to back-peddle. Like Xan, she was aware that her acceptance in the group was largely reliant on the ranger continuing to defend her.

"Sexual?" Rasaad flinched. "There was nothing- um… I was talking about moonlight… and- and the reflecting…"

"Viconia has a point. Don't you think so Rasaad?" said Arrow. Xan rolled his eyes. The girl's insistence on trying to be fair could sometimes be an irritating habit.

"If you mean her point about human arrogance, I agree we are all afflicted with this flaw to some degree. As for her embrace of Shar, I will never submit to the void."

"So you keep saying," muttered Viconia.

The conversation did nothing to ease the group's uncomfortable vibe. They continued on their way. Rasaad thought maybe he detected a particular frostiness from Arrow. He did not wish her to think that there was genuinely anything between him and Viconia, but he could not think of a subtle way to broach the subject.

The woodland thinned and gave way to cultivated land with wheat fields, orchards and the occasional flock of sheep. The first village they came to had no information about the Dark Moon cult, or if they did they were too afraid to share it. They sent them on to a small town near the base of one of the taller mountains. This was apparently the hub of the Cloud Peak villages and the base for a small mining operation.

When they arrived, late in the afternoon, a pot-bellied man proclaiming himself to be the mayor rushed out to greet them. He took little interest in Rasaad's questions about the Dark Moon cult but he seemed very interested in Arrow.

"A ranger!" he beamed, shaking her hand so hard her arm ached. "Ilmater be praised! We haven't had a ranger in seven years, we're so far out of the way and the peaks are so cold nobody would take the job. We are delighted, delighted to meet you, and your friends of course."

"I…" Arrow began.

"We have a main cabin for you in the town, and several smaller lodges for when you're patrolling the peaks," he assured her, "They have fallen into disrepair a bit but we will soon have them fixed up now that you are here!"

He seemed so genuinely delighted to have her that it broke her heart to have to tell him that she had not come to take the post. The mayor looked crestfallen.

"That is a shame," he sighed, "We so badly needed one too. The monsters prowl so far down the mountains these days it is hard to get from village to village. It's tearing families apart, and you would not believe some of the things the trolls get up to with our livestock.

"I wish I could help you," said Arrow, "But there are worse things than trolls in the mountains. Have you heard of the Dark Moon Order?"

"No," he frowned, "Wait, you don't mean those bald crazies do you? Look a bit like your friend here, no offense!" he added quickly to Rasaad.

"None taken," Rasaad assured him, "But tell me my friend, where can we find them?"

"In the mountains," replied the mayor.

"Where in the mountains?" he pressed.

"Which mountain?" added Jaheira.

"Ah. That I don't know," the mayor said apologetically. "They send their minions down every other month or so for supplies but a group of them left a few days back. You'll be waiting a while."

"We can't wait for months," insisted Rasaad. "We'll have to start climbing and hope for the best."

"You must be joking?" protested Xan, "That could take weeks!"

"Thank you," said Jaheira to the mayor. "May we ask a favour?" You mentioned there were lodges around the peaks. Might we be allowed to use them while we search?"

"Certainly," said the mayor, perking up again and looking at Arrow hopefully. "Make yourself at home, ranger. You'll enjoy wandering the peaks, they're beautiful at this time of year. At any time of year! And er… if you did happen to change your mind and decide to stay, or perhaps come back when your business is concluded, we'd be delighted to have you!"

They stopped only to pick up a few provisions. To Arrow's delight fire arrows were very common and relatively cheap in the town. Apparently due to the troll problem, the local farmers kept supplies of burning ammunition as standard. They also took food and water skins. Jaheira was able to acquire a lighter weight staff, which would help on the long climbs, but also had the advantage of being faster to strike.

Arrow had the opportunity to become very familiar with the peaks. Though they were not very large by the standards of other mountains, each one still took a day to scale high enough to determine the presence or absence of any large bases. Even for Rasaad who spent a great deal of effort on maintaining his physical fitness, this represented a significant workout. Khalid and Jaheira also succeeded in masking their exhaustion tolerably, the druid doing most of the climbing in one of her animal forms. For Xan and Viconia however, this was torture. They became increasingly dishevelled, their muscles burned and they lacked the energy even to fight each other.

On the sixth day of climbing the pair, who would normally fail to agree even on the colour of an orange, sat down and flatly refused to move until they'd had a proper rest.

"Perhaps it might be more sensible for us to split up and scout the mountains anyway," suggested Rasaad. "This is taking too long."

"In pairs though," insisted Jaheira, "We should aim to avoid being spotted, but if we are we should at least give ourselves a fighting chance."

"Very well. Arrow and I will scale these three peaks," said Rasaad pointing, "And you scout those two. We will meet back here in three days."

"Take some of my fire arrows," Arrow said to Khalid, "If one of our groups runs into trouble, we can fire them into the air." She was itching to get going. Unlike the cleric and the wizard, she was enjoying herself immensely trekking around these mountains. They were cool, pleasant and the bands of coniferous forest were home to all kinds of birds and animals. Her only frustration was having to wait for the slower party members, and she jumped at Rasaad's suggestion that they go on without them.

"Hang on," said Jaheira, fixing Rasaad with a suspicious glare, "Shouldn't _I_ go with Arrow? You are forgetting that the party only have two tents between us."

Rasaad had not forgotten this and was not at all averse to taking a short camping holiday with the ranger away from the rest of the group. Moreover, while he had no intention of doing anything dishonourable with Arrow in the tent, he did feel that Jaheira was overstepping the mark by involving herself. He was an adult, Arrow was an adult. It was really none of the Harpers' business. As it was, he was saved by Arrow from having to formulate a response.

"We can go up, look around and be back at the nearest lodge in a day," said Arrow. "Please don't take this the wrong way but we'll find the cult much faster if we pair off by walking speed."

"Very well," said Jaheira tersely. Arrow set off at once. The druid's blue gaze drilled accusingly into Rasaad. He met it evenly. "Better get moving then monk, the ranger is halfway to the next mountain already."

Rasaad hastily followed Arrow. She hoisted her pack and surveyed the peaks with an eager smile.

"You seem happy," he remarked.

"I… yes," she admitted. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be. Your brother's killers are out there somewhere, this must be difficult for you. We'll find them soon, I promise."

"I am pleased that you are happy," he said, adding after a pause, "Are you considering taking the mayor's offer and becoming the Cloud Peaks' resident ranger?"

"I… I am," she said, "Thinking about it. Maybe."

In truth she was torn. She had no reason to adventure any further. Freya was taking care of the iron crisis, she had no desire to avenge Gorion's death and she lacked the power to help Eric even if she knew where to begin looking. And yet, perhaps because of Imoen, she felt like she was supposed to be doing _something._ She had dreamed of both of them since they'd started scaling the peaks. Eric had a couple of routine pit fights. Freya she had seen bathed head to toe in blood, hacking her way through an enormous stronghold full of gnolls. Arrow was pleased to see that she had Imoen with her, but the dream had contained a disturbing detail.

Slumped against one of the stone walls of the stronghold lay a pile of ripped, bloodstained garments. The weapons and armour had been long since pillaged but she recognized the spot and she recognized the clothes. This grim relic was all that remained of Imoen's friend Draxle, another of the Candlekeep orphans, whom the gnolls had torn limb from limb. Freya recognized it as well. She was laughing with Minsc, swinging both swords and sending pieces of gnoll flying in all directions.

"Arowan, if you're watching this you are missing out!" she barked over the sound of the battle. Minsc concurred. The pair of them seemed to be having great fun. However when her eyes fell upon Draxle's remains, her face which was still beautiful even under all the blood, froze in shock. Without warning, the werewolf grabbed hold of Imoen and bundled her forcefully up some stairs before she saw it too. Arrow would have thanked Freya for that if she could, though she did not envy her the blood bath she was creating. Rather she imagined the young and elderly gnolls who were no doubt hiding behind the walls, who would have to creep out later to find the bodies of their parents and children.

But Eric and Freya weren't the main reason she hesitated to accept the ranger position. She did not want to leave her party. Khalid and Jaheira were the closest thing she had ever had to family, but they had not been together long enough that she was sure the bond would survive prolonged separation. She had grown so used to Xan's melancholy that it was like a familiar grey blanket. Even Viconia was pretty funny when she was not using her sexuality to try to lure Rasaad from Selune… and as for Rasaad himself… It would be ridiculous to turn down the offer of a good position for a man who wasn't even hers. She steeled herself.

Rasaad was also steeling himself. If Arrow took this job from the mayor and the two of them were not a couple he could think of no excuse to stick around, so this would be his only chance. If he was going to ask her at all, then he would need to do it soon.


	16. Dark Moon Rising

Cool light from the moon was reflecting off the snow. A few flakes had stuck to Arrow's eyelashes, glittering like diamonds. Tendrils of dark brown hair were escaping from her hood. She looked so contented and at ease up here. Rasaad had difficulty keeping his eyes off of her.

"No cultists on this mountain," she said. There was nothing obvious on the neighbouring peaks either, at least not the sides that they could see.

"We should head back to the lodge," he said. She turned and smiled at him. Her face was pale in the cold and a slight flush ran from cheek to cheek in line with her freckles. The moonlit snow and mountain range panned out around her. For years afterwards, he clung on to the memory of her like this, and wished until his heart split that he could return to this moment before everything went wrong.

They headed back, snow crunching under their boots until they reached the shade of the forest. Some small night critters were scurrying amongst the branches but nothing was hunting them tonight. This was rare for the Cloud Peaks. It hadn't taken long for it to become apparent why the mayor of the town below was so desperate for a ranger.

Within hours of setting out the party had been set on by a pack of winter wolves. The coniferous mountain woods were infested with wild dogs and man-eating spiders, and at one point before the party split they had even encountered a young wyvern. These foes were not much of a challenge for an adventuring party, or even a pair to face, but in such unchecked numbers they must be causing the villagers serious problems. This was even without having run into any snow trolls yet.

Close to the base of the mountain a thin ridge of rocky ground connected this peak to its neighbour. They exchanged a look. Despite having promised Jaheira that they would return to the lodge each evening, they could save themselves a lot of time by crossing it and making camp partway up the second peak.

"She'll never know," said Arrow, mischievously. They scrambled over the ridge, Rasaad going first to detect traps. Awaiting the pair on the other side was their first snow troll. It unfurled itself with long limbs and roared at them, spit flying.

"Shoot it! I will keep it distracted!" yelled Rasaad and ran straight at it, ducking the creature's lanky grabbing hand. From the ridge, Arrow loosed a burning arrow, striking the creature in the leg. It let out a guttural noise and lunged for Rasaad again, but the monk danced out of reach and kicked it in the small of the back.

The troll turned around, confused, too slow and lumbering to strike its prey. Arrow pierced it again, this time in the arm. It abandoned its attempts to eat Rasaad and started thundering toward her instead. The monk gasped in alarm. At this speed it could hurtle into Arrow pitching them both off the ridge.

He ran after it, caught it by the legs and brought it crashing down just before it reached her. It turned and swiped at him, ripping a large gash into his shoulder. It was too late for the troll though. From its prone position there was nothing it could do to prevent the archer from firing two burning arrows into its skull in quick succession from point blank range. With a grunt of effort, Rasaad heaved it over the ridge and it fell with an unpleasant cracking sound into the rocks below.

"Rasaad!" Arrow yelled.

"I'm ok," he panted. She helped him to the other end of the ridge, where they found a small cave. The previous owner, presumably the troll, no longer needed it. Despite smelling less than ideal, it provided good shelter from the cold once they had swept it clean of chewed bones and saved them the effort of pitching a tent.

"Let me see that," Arrow said. The monk removed his shirt and cloak though the cold night air bit into his skin. She removed her gloves and bathed his wound quickly with water from her waterskin and murmured a healing spell. Being a ranger and not a cleric, there was a limit to what she could do but it stopped the bleeding and took the edge off of the pain. Her hands brushing his shoulder as she tended the wound caused him to tense and he had to fight to keep his breathing even.

When she was finished she pulled her gloves back on and he redressed, it was far too cold not to. They unfurled their blankets and climbed gratefully inside. Starting a campfire was too risky, it might attract the notice of the cultists, so they ate their meal of bread and salted meat in bed.

Sleeping this close to Rasaad felt a little surreal to Arrow. She could hear his breathing, deep, steady and oddly comforting. Very different from her tent mates'. That said, she had been surprised by how quickly she had become used to sharing her tent with other women after having a room in Candlekeep to herself. In fact she found it easier to sleep with the sound of another woman's breathing, almost as if she was already used to it.

" _Oh, but I was,"_ she realised suddenly. _"That's why my room had three beds in it."_ It hadn't occurred to her before, but Candlekeep was simply not big enough for a dozen children to have bedrooms to themselves. Gorion's spells had tricked the Candlekeep orphans, and everyone else except him and Imoen, into believing that they were all one person. This had protected most of them when Sarevok attacked but it also meant that growing up they had instantly forgotten each other the second they looked away. _"Nothing in my room was ever where I left it. Things kept appearing that didn't belong to me… and I always blamed Imoen."_

She sat up suddenly and opened her bag. Rasaad peered over curiously as she rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. A hairbrush, a bracelet and her lighter boots that she wore when it was sunny. Things that had been left in her room (she had thought by Imoen) that she had kept. Strange that Imoen never asked for them back. The blue bangle and the hairbrush, which was overfilled with Arrow's long dark hairs, yielded no clues. Yet the boots... the boots fitted her. That was odd now that she came to think about it. Didn't she have bigger feet than Imoen? She had never noticed it before. Maybe it was only now that Gorion's spell was breaking that she was able to register these things. Then she saw, on the sole of the boots, the confirmation she was looking for. Scratched into the sole with a knife was clearly etched a name; DRAXLE.

"What is it?" Rasaad frowned. She threw him the boots and he looked at the soles. "Ah."

"We shared a room," she said, slightly perturbed. "I didn't even realise until just now. It's like I'm noticing things now that Gorion's spells are failing that I wasn't able to before."

"Finding out about Gorion's enchantment must be very strange for you," he said. "Everything you thought you knew was a lie."

Arrow shrugged. "Actually it kind of explains a lot of things, but yeah it is a bit weird to think I've been walking around in my dead roommates' boots without realizing it. I'm sorry, we should try to get some sleep."

She buried down into her blankets, comfortable against the cold and fatigue overtook her before Rasaad. His heart was still hammering uncontrollably. Her back was turned to him and her long dark hair was spilling over the covers. He adored her hair and felt a powerful yearning to reach over and stroke it. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep, but then she started snoring very softly. A wave of fondness rushed over him and it felt as though his insides were starting to melt. He lay like this, happy but unable to sleep for some time. Until Arrow started screaming.

"No," declared the paladin boldly. "I refuse to fight!"

Arrow was hovering above the Black Pits in her dreams once more, invisible and insubstantial, watching yet another violent event in Eric's life unfold. Baeloth had pitched Eric against yet another opponent but this latest challenger was proving uncooperative.

"How tedious," sighed the drow. "I do hate it when they do this. Eric! Try to extract some entertainment from this ecclesiastical egotist."

"Don't do it!" the paladin urged him "We can both refuse to fight!"

"You know the rules!" snapped the drow. "Refuse to fight and you both die!"

"Better to die than live like this!" bellowed the paladin defiantly. Arrow started breathing more rapidly, anxious to see what Eric would do.

"Baeloth!" Eric roared. The crowd held their collective breath.

Eric smiled darkly. "Behold how we deal with cowards in the Black Pits!"

Nightmares about nightmares were an odd concept, yet Arrow would have them for some time about what happened next. First Eric blasted the paladin to the ground with a surge of magical energy. Then he strolled over calmly and unclipped the stunned warrior's armour. The paladin's eyes darted frantically from his own exposed abdomen to the knife Eric was coolly unsheathing, but his eyes seemed to be the only part of him that could move. The crowd maintained an interested silence. Even Baeloth leaned forward in his seat, peering curiously. Then the necromancer took a dagger and opened the paladin from belly button to crotch.

The paladin gritted his teeth and whimpered but refused to scream. Eric did not seem particularly perturbed by this. He cleaned his dagger off on his victim's trousers, got to his feet and released the man from the spell holding him. His hands flew immediately to his opened middle, trying to hold in his guts.

"Having any regrets yet?" Baeloth laughed spitefully at the eviscerated victim. The paladin was in too much pain to speak but shook his head bravely. "Still defiant! See if you can't do something about that Eric."

Eric stepped back and began chanting, showing not so much as a flicker of compassion. The still-conscious man's entrails began to uncoil. They slipped loose from the hole in his torso in revolting red-pink loops. The man gasped in horror. Eric made them spin and twist above his head, flicking them about like a gruesome ribbon dancer.

The paladin's will broke at this point. He screamed and pleaded, to Eric, to Baeloth and to his god Helm.

"Very well," said Baeloth in a bored voice. "Finish this and we'll move on to the next fight."

_"Oh gods, finish this,"_ whispered Arrow, though she knew Eric could not hear her. _"Just let it end now. That poor man. Please, oh please just let him die."_ Her voice was echoed by Bubbles, who was pleading with her lover to stop it from behind the bars leading away from the pit.

But Eric wasn't done yet.

"Renounce your god," he demanded.

The crowd took a collective intake of breath. Renouncing Helm just before death would strip him of his status as a paladin. It would rob the man of his patron deity, just when he needed him most. This was rough even by the standards of this bloodthirsty audience.

"You bastard!" Arrow breathed.

"No, please, no..." sobbed the dying paladin.

"This does not end until you renounce Helm!" Eric thundered. "If it takes hours, days or even weeks I _will_ hear you say it."

"No!" screamed Arrow. "Stop it! Stop it!"

Being of a somewhat stoical disposition she did not normally react with hysteria, but even next to the numerous violent things she had seen in her life this was horrendous. Had the paladin been a follower of, say, Ilmatar, he could have said what he needed to say and been reasonably confident of being forgiven in the next life. Helm, however, was a notoriously uncompromising deity.

"I denounce..." the paladin gasped.

Arrow screwed her eyes shut. Tears leaked out of the corners. What Eric was attempting to do would deprive this man of his chosen afterlife, and perhaps even condemn him to one of the hells. The victim had done nothing to Eric, in fact he had refused to hurt him even to save his own life.

"I denounce Llolth!"

Arrow's eyes sprang open. Baeloth hissed in anger and members of the crowd started booing.

"Clever..." she whispered.

"I denounce Shar! I denounce Cyric!" the paladin continued, glaring straight at his tormentor. The crowd were growing livid now. Helm was one thing, but these were their own gods he was speaking against. Were it not for the magical barrier separating the combatants from the audience she would bet on one of them finishing him off themselves. Eric realised he was about to be robbed of his big finish. His eyes narrowed in irritation. The paladin took a deep breath, screwing up his face in agony.

"I denounce Talos!" he screamed.

That last piece of blasphemy did the trick, as the hot-tempered thunder-god took the bait. A bolt of lightning streaked from nowhere and instantly fried the man to a crisp. His spirit left his smoking, desecrated body, safely destined for the domain of Helm.

The crowd were still booing the dead paladin. Eric stalked over and kicked the blackened lifeless body in disgust. It burst over his boot in a spurt of blood and melted fat.

"Give me an enemy worth killing next time!" he spat at Baeloth.

"Eric! Oh gods, what have you done?" Bubbles' horrified whimper floated from the barred doors leading under the pits.

"No need for a paternity spell here ladies and gentlemen. He is undoubtedly his father's son! We'll get him a worthier opponent next time. Give it up for Eric Bhaalspawn!"

Arrow wondered if, in the waking world, her real body was vomiting over the floor of the cave because that is what she felt like doing right now. She wanted this connection with Eric broken. The worst thing was that the drow hadn't even told him to do it. All he'd needed to do to stay alive was to slay the paladin quickly and cleanly. Everything else was his own idea.

The dream wasn't ending though, that was strange. Behind Eric the iron grating to the living area rose. He turned around, his face utterly expressionless and strode out of the pit. Arrow was floating, invisible, behind Eric as he marched past Bubbles without even looking at her. Her makeup was running down her cheeks, which were streaked with tears and there were deep nail marks where she'd been clawing her face.

"What…?!" she screamed at him, lost for words. "Why did you do that?"

"Got an audience to entertain," he shrugged indifferently.

"Entertain them?" she sobbed hysterically, running alongside him. "You _scared_ them! Were you watching Baeloth's face? Even he thinks you went too far!" Eric ignored her. When she spoke next her voice was trembling and very quiet. "Eric, _why?_ "

Eric stopped dead and turned to her with a very nasty smile on his face. Bubbles backed away several steps, scanning him for any flicker of the Eric she thought she knew. He cocked his head to one side and answered her in a voice like frozen marble.

"Why not?"

"That's it!" she burst out, quivering but defiant. "I'm not bringing you those fucking potions anymore! They've sent you out of your mind!"

That threat got his attention. Sometimes in Arrow's dreams of the other Candlekeep orphans, very rarely, their feelings were so intense that she felt them too. Recently this had only happened with the pain the Hooded Man's tortures had inflicted on Eric and with Freya's full-moon bloodlust. It happened again now. Arrow was slammed with a rush of fear so strong it was as if a wall of pure terror had fallen and crushed her. It was as if he knew with absolute certainty that he was going to hell, where he would suffer as intensely as he had under the Hooded Man's ministrations for ever and ever. There was no hope. There was no escape. Arrow tried to remind herself that these feelings were not her own, and looked at Eric's expression. He was petrified, like a cornered animal. What's more this feeling was very familiar to him.

Eric grabbed Bubbles roughly by the wrist and dragged her past the stalls selling weapons. Baeloth's genie floated up to him bearing his prize money but the necromancer brushed him off. He pulled the sobbing woman down the strange smelling brothel corridor into the room they sometimes shared and slammed the door.

"You will bring me the potions! I refuse to lose my freedom now, not when I'm this close!" he told her. He did not dare raise his voice for fear of being overheard, but his tone was no less threatening than if he were screaming in her face. She shook her head sobbing. He started toward her and for a moment Arrow was sure he meant to hit her. Fortunately he was prevented by the genie, who drifted after them through the door.

"No. We will not supply you with potions anymore," the genie told him curtly, "And you will leave Bubbles alone now."

Eric laughed darkly and glanced at the door just to make sure that nobody else was coming through it. Then he started chanting. The genie made no move to stop him, there was no need. He only laughed mockingly, safe under the protection of the geas. Eric paused at the final line of the incantation. He raised the finger where Baeloth had personally placed his slave ring when he first arrived. Without taking his eyes off of Bubbles he removed the little band of iron from his finger.

In the time it took the genie to register what had happened and start invoking protection spells of his own, it was already too late. Eric pointed his newly liberated finger at the genie and there was a flash and a rush of wind. The curse struck him and he collapsed, unconscious.

"Hmm…" said Eric. "That's disappointing. I meant to kill him. I suppose this means I've not broken through all of the protections on this place yet, but I've certainly bypassed enough of them to allow me to kill _you_ Bubbles."

"You wouldn't!" she gasped. She'd seen what he had just done to that paladin though. Deep down she knew he would.

"This shouldn't be a hard choice Bubbles," said Eric impatiently. "Keep bringing me the potions and very soon all of this will be over. We will be free. You will be on a ship to the country of your choice with all the gold you can carry. Alternatively you can keep defying me and suffer the same fate as Shank and Carbos. What's it to be?"

"I'll bring you the potions," she answered quietly. "The genie too, we… we'll both do as you say."

"Smart woman," sneered Eric.

"It's alright, it's alright. Wake up now."

Arrow was sitting up in her blanket on the floor of the cave, wrapped in Rasaad's arms. He was looking at her with an expression of deep concern. Their lamp had been knocked over across the floor and there was little light to see by, but he could feel her trembling. She told him what she had just witnessed, fighting the urge to sob.

"I need to find away to break this connection, I want Eric out of my head Rasaad, I want him gone!" she babbled, fighting a rising sense of panic.

"It's ok," he said soothingly, rubbing her back to calm her down. "He doesn't know that you and Freya are real people and there's nothing he could do to you even if he did. He's a pit fighter. He won't survive long. Pit fighters never do."

Arrow remembered that Rasaad had watched his own father die in a different pit in Calimport. She held on to him a little tighter. The monk was wrong though. He didn't know Eric, and she felt like she finally did. Very occasionally, close to full moon when the feeling was overwhelming, she had not just watched Freya in her dreams but also experienced her bloodlust with her. This time she had felt Eric's overriding emotion. _Fear._

"He will survive," she said. Somehow, she had never felt so certain of anything in her life. "Eric will do anything to stay alive. Anything. He's terrified of the afterlife. He thinks he's going to hell."

"He probably is," said Rasaad. "Given what he's done."

"No, not because of what he's done," said Arrow, "Because of what he _is._ "

"Do you think he really is the son of Bhaal?" asked Rasaad mildly.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, "What matters is that he believes it. I felt his terror when Bubbles threatened to stop giving him the potions. He's convinced that if he dies he'll go to hell no matter what he does. Before she left Imoen told me that he wanted to become a lich. I thought he was just power hungry but it's more than that. He's determined never to die."

"It will be alright I promise," the monk murmured. They lay back down to sleep but neither made any move to let go of the other. "When all this is over we'll find Imoen and Freya. We will find a way to break the link with Eric. Together." They pulled in a little tighter. The strength of his arms and his slow rhythmic breathing calmed her and gradually Arrow drifted back to sleep.

"Well, well, well!" Daylight and an amused, haughty voice woke them up. With a surge of adrenaline, Arrow and Rasaad began frantically scrambling from their sleeping bags to defend themselves from the Dark Moon cult, but it was only Jaheira. The rest of the party were hovering behind her at the entrance to the cave. Khalid cleared his throat.

It dawned on Rasaad that they had walked in on him and Arrow in an extremely compromising position, and he started to blush. Arrow rolled away to make it very clear that the two of them were in separate sleeping bags, but Xan's raised eyebrow did not drop a millimetre.

"We've been up half the night searching for you two," Jaheira said scathingly. "Imagine our surprise when we returned to the lodge you were supposed to be staying at and found you not in it! Then we saw flaming arrows being fired in this area, which was supposed to be the scouts' signal for help."

"Sorry Jaheira," said Arrow, guiltily.

"Fortunately when dawn broke I was able to find your tracks and follow you here," she said. "And here you are. Safe and sound."

"We w- were really worried about you," Khalid said seriously. "I- I'm d- disappointed. I didn't think you two would be so i- irresponsible.

"I apologise," said Rasaad, getting up. "Please do not blame Arrow. I am the one who was impatient to find the Dark Moon cult."

"I'm really sorry Khalid," added Arrow, feeling horrible. "Crossing the ridge was my idea."

"You are both equally at fault!" snapped Viconia, "And none of us got any sleep, searching all night in the freezing cold for you. Anyway, Jaheira and Khalid have found the Sharran's base so you're wish has been granted moon-monk!"

"Two of your wishes by the looks of things," muttered Xan.

They set out toward the peaks where Khalid and Jaheira had spied the cultists, Xan and Viconia complaining relentlessly all the way. Wizard and cleric had finally found something in common, a shared hatred of climbing.

"Surely I shall collapse from exhaustion before I fall on the battlefield," moaned Xan dramatically.

"Rivvil must have feet made of leather," Viconia complained, "Even my blisters have blisters!"

"At least the 'rivvil' got a chance to sleep," Xan pointed out, "We were up all night looking for them, because they wanted to go sleep in a cave together instead of where they said they were going to be! How are we supposed to fight the cultists when we get to the top? We should rest first!"

"I agree," groaned Viconia. "Even the Harpers didn't get to sleep. Most of the party aren't fit for battle. Jaheira! Jaheira!"

"Keep your voice down!" their leader hissed, halting the party and skidding down the trail to hear what the elves had to say. Viconia fixed her angrily with her red eyes, and to Jaheira's surprise Xan was nodding along with everything she said looking equally furious.

"We've been up all night apart from those two," the drow complained. "And possibly them also, depending on what you think they were getting up to in that cave. We're exhausted! We should rest now and attack the cult by night. Take them by surprise!"

Jaheira gave a half-smile and shook her head. The coniferous forest continued most of the way up the mountains, thinning and giving way to snow and stone only near the peaks. They still had plenty of cover to protect them and though the monks knew they were coming they would be unable to discern their exact location simply by looking down.

"It won't be a surprise. They know we're here," she said. "The scouts saw Khalid and I but they chose not to attack. They're waiting in their fortress for us to come to them. You are right though, it has been too long since we have rested. We'll make camp here under the shelter of the trees and attack at nightfall."

Having expected to have her opinion discounted out of hand, it took Viconia a moment to register that she had actually got her own way. She opened her mouth to argue, cottoned on that she had won, and shut it again. She looked at Xan who smiled at her and nodded gratefully. She smiled back stiffly. He had backed her up after all.

Rasaad was in no mood to stop. He was fully rested and incapable of sitting around when he was this close to his goal. His restless energy and palpable frustration made it clear that if he were forced to stop now, he would do nothing but disrupt their break. Jaheira sent him with Arrow to scout the peak and report back, with strict instructions not to attack without the rest of them.

The human pair set off up the trail and the trees became increasingly sparse, the air colder. The hard stone beneath their heels was replaced by the crunch of pure, white snow. It became thicker and thicker until it threatened to pour in over the rims of their boots. A frozen wind howled around them and though he had a hood up, the monk found himself wishing that he had hair.

Arrow seemed happier than Rasaad had ever seen her. The idea that this isolated, frozen domain might soon be hers to patrol would be many people's idea of hell, but it had put a new spring in her step. When she spoke her dark eyes sparkled and returning to life in the monastery without her was fast turning from being merely unappealing to unthinkable.

"There!" Rasaad whispered suddenly, as they stepped out from between two great ridges of snow-covered rock.

A dozen or so figures clothed in black were stood in the snow. Four of them were bound and underdressed for the freezing conditions. They appeared to be captives. The monks were watching them shiver with indifference. Arrow wondered if they had stumbled upon a sacrificial ceremony. Two of the monks were crawling around the captives on all fours. Even with gloves on their hands must by frozen solid. It was impossible to see from this distance whether they had been physically mutilated in the same way, but the manner in which they moved reminded her of Cat.

Viconia's words upon meeting the mad animal-like monk came back to her; _'It takes years to make one as tame as this.'_ She had not given this much thought at the time and assumed that Cat was a mentally ill woman who had been encouraged and manipulated by the cult into becoming feral and animal-like. Yet the Dark Moon Monks seemed to have more than one of them. She began to ponder more closely exactly how these creatures were 'made' and a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

"More Cats," she whispered.

"Indeed," said Rasaad uneasily. "Arrow, you have not had much experience with the Dark Moon sect. I myself have never been inside one of their temples, but I heard things during my training. I must warn you about what we may find in there."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"The servants of Shar routinely practise blood sacrifices of animals, and occasionally even sentient beings," he said. "They are also known for torturing their victims. I had thought Cat to be a one off, perhaps a monk who got in the way of a bad spell or head injury. However, if there are many of them then it might be that they are making them on purpose. We may find prisoners inside, and there is no telling what sort of state they might be in."

"Listen," Arrow whispered. The monks were speaking. They crept closer to hear what they were saying.

"The worthy, who have already begun their training in the temple above," a woman was saying, "And then there are you worthless wretches: the feeble, infirm, foolish and disobedient."

One of the bound captives dropped to his knees in the snow. His hands were tied behind his back but he was clenching them as though in prayer. They had only allowed him a loose linen shirt, despite the icy winds and deep snow. His skin was as white as the mountain top and he shivered with both fear and cold.

"Mercy, master! We came only to serve Shar."

"Silence worm! You could not even cross the nightingale floor without waking the guard. The Mistress of the Night has weighed your shadow and deemed you unworthy!" growled a thick, muscular man. He looked directly at Arrow and Rasaad. She grabbed the monk's arm in alarm, but the Sharran simply looked down his nose at them and returned to tormenting his students.

"It isn't fair!" wailed one of the failed applicants. She was a scrawny, mousey teenager who looked far too young to be there. "The trials were too hard!"

"So says the most craven of the applicants. You lack the courage even to attempt escape like the others. Your cowardice sickens me!" spat another of the Dark Moon Monks.

"They shall not remain free for long," smirked the first monk. "After we have dispensed with you, we will scour the peaks. They will wish the ice trolls had found them first."

"See what I mean?" said Rasaad darkly. "This is how the servants of Shar treat their acolytes. They even prey on their own."

"Look, my brothers," said the monk who had spotted Rasaad. "Intruders. Slay them in the name of Shar!"

Owing to the thickness of the snow, the two sides did not so much charge each other as wade slowly. Had the pair chosen to retreat, they would have escaped the snow first and could have reached camp long before these monks caught up with them. As it was, they ignored Jaheira's order not to engage the enemy without them. Rasaad because he felt he could take these minions out alone, Arrow because they would murder the acolytes if she didn't intervene.

Whoever had chosen to site the temple on a snowy peak clearly had little military experience, because it put the weapon-shunning monks at a serious tactical disadvantage. They were slow to reach them and Arrow was an archer. By the time the first of the Sharrans got to Rasaad, she had already taken down two of them. This did not cause her too much guilt. They had died in the name of their goddess and would no doubt be welcomed into her shadowy corner of the afterlife. It was with great reluctance however that she shot down one of the cats. The feral man had leapt onto an acolyte and had Arrow delayed for a second he would have torn out her throat with his teeth.

Rasaad was making short work of the two remaining monks. They were all limited by the depth of the snow in terms of kicks and footwork, but he was particularly strong in the upper body and their blows were no match for his. To Arrow's relief, the four reject-monks spared her having to kill the second cat by turning on it themselves. Three of them held her writhing, hissing body still. The fourth, no doubt using a technique he had practised in the temple, slashed her throat. With a horrible gurgle she sank to the ground.

Stumbling and freezing, the applicants ran toward their rescuers. Rasaad looked wary at first, afraid that they might attempt to redeem themselves in the eyes of Shar by attacking them, but Arrow took off her coat and wrapped it around the teenage girl.

"You saved our lives, stranger. How can we repay you?" she asked.

"Renounce the worship of Shar, and sin no more?" suggested Arrow hopefully.

"Thank you!" the failed-monk said, "You've given me a second chance, and I wont waste it worshipping that whisperer in the darkness."

"The monk mentioned others, do you know where they are?" she asked. "They wont last long out here without supplies and furs."

"Back that way," said the applicant, "But no way am I going anywhere near that temple. They'd have killed us for failing their trials but runaways get tortured or worse, they'd turn us into one of _those._ " She pointed at the nearest dead cat. This one was male but just like their friend Cat, whom Imoen had taken to the sanctuary of the Friendly Arm Inn, he had black eyes, a tattooed face and filed down teeth.

"We'd better see you down as far as the tree line," said Arrow. "There are ice trolls out here. We'll give you some food and better clothes. After that stick together, there are wolves and other beasts creeping around. Head to the town at the base of the mountains and rest. Tell the mayor that the ranger asked him to help you."

"I'm from the town, I know the mayor," the applicant said. "One of the monks invited me up the last time they came down to buy food and stuff. It sounded like a bit of fun… I never imagined it would be like this."

The applicants began hastily making their way down the path with the Selunite and ranger following them. Arrow, for her part, with a heavy heart. What slim chance the runaways had of survival lessened with each passing hour. Yet these applicants had a better chance with an escort. Her decision was justified when they rounded the rock projection and came face to face with another ice troll. She and Rasaad were able to finish it off without much difficulty, but the acolytes would have had little hope.

"You are a true hero Arowan." Rasaad leaned over and murmured in her ear softly. His warm breath contrasted with the frigid air. "May the light of Selune ever guide your path."

Back at the camp, Viconia was livid. She refused to provide the rejects with anything from her own pack and slapped one of them in the face when he dared to look at her. They put on their extra clothing and took their food to eat as they descended the peak. Arrow got the impression that they might not have left so hastily had it not been for the angry drow.

"You should not have saved them!" Viconia chided Rasaad. "This is the way of strength in shadow. One must cull the weak to thrive."

"I culled some of them," he replied frostily. Viconia glared at him, her red eyes flashing. Then she turned and strode away to sit with Xan, complaining in a carrying whisper that their rest had been disturbed again. Sometimes, when she was trying to be seductive, a part of Rasaad that he did not like very much could not help but respond to her. Other times, like this, her inner darkness was so plainly visible that no amount of sexuality could mask it.

Now that they were awake and reasonably rested, Jaheira made them begin climbing again, much to Xan and Viconia's fury. They stalked ahead, shooting poisonous looks down the path at their companions, and speaking to each other in incensed whispers. Rasaad and Arrow, who had been punished for waking them by being loaded up like pack mules, were significantly slowed and lagged some way behind.

"I am cautiously optimistic for those novices' futures," he remarked to Arrow, "Away from the Dark Moon Cult."

"I don't think they were evil, just not very bright," Arrow replied. "But who am I to judge? I have my share of flaws."

"Of all the people I have met on my travels, you are certainly the closest to perfect," he said. He watched her face closely as she registered first surprise and then cautious pleasure. She smiled nervously, hoping but still not certain that he meant what she thought he did. Rasaad felt the heat rushing to his face as he waited for her response, but she could not think of one.

"I… I… um…" she stammered, wishing that she could conjure up something clever or at least encouraging to say. She liked him so much. The firm line of his jaw, his dark intelligent eyes, even his tattoos and the scar running down his cheek. Doubtless a lot of attractive women would like Rasaad, if he were open to giving up monastic life and placing himself on the market. It would be silly to hope that he would pick her. And yet hope it she did.

The monk likewise braced himself for a rejection. He believed that she probably returned his affections. If he didn't he would not have said what he had. Yet Arrow was so guarded that it could be very hard to tell what she was thinking.

"I really like you too Rasaad," she mumbled finally, eyes on her feet. A warmth spread through him and his face broke into a smile. Nobody could accuse Arrow of being a poet, but her shy admission brought him more happiness than any scripted declaration could have done. She glanced up at him nervously, then back at her feet, not quite able to look him in the eye.

He reached out hesitantly, paused for a few seconds, then stroked her escaping strands of hair back. It was an impulse he had been fighting for weeks. He was cupping her face now, she looked up at him wide eyed. His chest pounded, but there was no plausible deniability, no way back now. He tilted his head slightly, searching her face questioningly. She responded by tilting her own the other way and he drew her nearer to close the gap.

"Hey! Let's go if we're going, it's freezing up here!" called Jaheira impatiently from further up the trail. Arrow and Rasaad sprang apart in surprise. His head was swimming. He had come so very close to kissing her, and he was sure she was about to kiss him back. Their first kiss should not be with their leader hollering at them though.

"Let us go and deal with the Dark Moon," he said softly, "And then perhaps we could explore a little further into the Cloud Peaks? Just you and me?"

"I'd like that," she smiled at him.


	17. Imprisonment

They left the camp as it was, since there seemed little point packing the tents away. By the time they returned to the peak, a fresh layer of snow had partially covered the bodies of their enemies. Arrow tried not to look at the cat-people.

'Cats' was not really an accurate description, as their behaviour could be fairly canine. Even rat-like at times. Yet somehow calling them cats seemed to afford them more dignity than referring to them as animals, or worse, demon-people. She hoped they would not encounter any more of them. It was cruel to kill them, but perhaps in some ways it was also cruel to revive them once they had been tortured and mutilated into such a state. She thought of their Cat, whom Imoen had deposited into the care of the Friendly Arm Inn, and offered a silent prayer to Ilmater that she had done the right thing.

"You cannot stand against the Dark Moon," Viconia was insisting to Jaheira. "The faithful of Shar are far too powerful. Better to leave this 'sunny soul' to his fate and continue without him."

"Sometimes the subtleties of your jokes elude me," Rasaad said to her coldly, though it was clear that he could tell she was being serious.

"You had no issue with eradicating the cult before we got into the snow," observed Jaheira, with a half-smile. "This sudden conviction that the Dark Moon are too strong for us to overcome wouldn't have anything to do with the drop in temperature would it?"

"They _are_ too strong if they can survive up here," the drow countered. "Their hides must be made of elephant leather. I mean look at the state of poor Xan. He's so frozen that for the first time in his life he knows what it feels like to be stiff!"

"You know for a split second Viconia, I thought you were about to show empathy for another person," remarked Xan. "It was so shocking that you almost gave me a stroke. What a relief that you were simply setting up me for another insult."

"Neither I, nor any other woman, will ever give you a stroke," sneered Viconia. Xan rolled his eyes in response.

"I see you're in no hurry to take your top off now drow," Jaheira observed crisply.

"If you do take it off Viconia, can I have it?" asked Arrow, who had given her coat to one of the rescued acolytes. It was an act of compassion that she had not thought through carefully enough, and now she was freezing. "In fact, if the opportunity to rub up against Rasaad again would inspire you to part with it, that's ok by me. Seems like a fair trade."

"Careful," warned Xan, "From what I hear about relationship dynamics in the Underdark, she might take you literally." Viconia threw a handful of snow at him. He pelted her back. Jaheira sighed and rolled her eyes.

Arrow looked around the peaks for any sign of the other acolytes but they were either hiding or dead. Probably the latter.

"Your concern for others is an inspiration," Rasaad remarked admiringly. "At the monastery we were taught to share our inner light, but you radiate yours without the need for training."

Had the cold allowed sufficient blood to rise to her face, Arrow would have blushed. She wanted to think of something equally nice to say to him, but she was finding that she was not very good at this. It had been the same back in Candlekeep when passing knights had attempted their ridiculous courtship rituals. Her bemusement at their absurd, over-the-top statements and her monosyllabic answers had caused them to give up quickly. Except in their case she had wanted them to go away. Rasaad on the other hand…

"A shame she only radiates light and not heat," moaned Xan. Viconia nodded in vigorous agreement and pulled her hood closer around her face. She was sorely tempted to summon her flaming sword but she suspected she would have need of it as a weapon shortly and felt it unwise to waste the spell. She said as much to Xan.

"It is so cold that even I would be happy to see your fire-blade right now," he said, "Even though you have tried to kill me with it in the past."

"You really can hold onto a grudge can't you?" she observed. "You would have made a passable drow."

"If you are going to start insulting me again…" he began.

"It was the highest compliment I could think of," she said, clearly offended.

Xan struggled to formulate a response. He certainly wasn't about to apologise to her. Even if he was in the wrong, which he was not sure he was, she would only see it as a weakness. Yet these past few days he had found that he preferred getting on with her to constantly being at each other's throats. While the rest of the party with stronger constitutions had been scouting the peaks, they had stayed together in the largest lodge. They'd mostly sat in chairs by the fire, and once they had run out of petty insults to throw at each other they had actually had to resort to conversation.

To his surprise, Viconia proved intelligent and stimulating company. He had credited her with a sort of low cunning, but they passed the time discussing everything from the history and politics of their respective homes to magic and strange beasts they had encountered. They even shared the cooking. To his surprise he found himself starting to think of her as a sort of friend, though his common sense was still screaming at him that trusting her was likely to get him killed.

Unless of course a pair of hungry ice trolls got to him first. They rose out of the snow where they had been hunched down sleeping, perfectly camouflaged. The closest one seized his leg and before he could react, he was swept up by his ankle. Arrow and Rasaad had taken another ice troll down between them earlier but that had been further down the mountain. Up here near the peak, these creatures had the advantage.

Khalid pelted as fast as the snow drifts would allow at the troll who was now holding Xan upside down by his foot. Rasaad engaged the second troll, ducking and weaving out of its way to keep it busy, though inflicting little actual damage. Arrow began firing at the second troll, as the first was swinging Xan around so wildly that she could not be confident that she would not hit him. Blood was flowing rapidly to his head and he soon felt too dizzy to make much sense of what was going on.

The troll's clawed arm swung, smacking Khalid and hurling him bodily into the air. He crashed into the snow several feet away in a plume of white. Jaheira, in bear form, stepped in for her fallen mate, clawing chunks out of the troll with her own paws. She looked anxiously behind her to see her husband dazed but staggering to his feet. The troll took advantage of the opportunity to hit her with Xan, using the wizard as a sort of makeshift club.

Wizard and druid's heads cracked together. Jaheira let out a bear growl and redoubled her efforts to incapacitate the troll but Xan was knocked senseless. A trickle of blood dribbled from his lips. Viconia rolled her eyes and side-stepped behind the troll, summoning the flame blade as she went. With the creature distracted by Jaheira, she plunged her sword into its skinny back. It let out a great howl and collapsed.

Meanwhile Arrow was not shooting so well. Having given her coat to the rescued applicant, she no longer had one herself. She was distracted by the pain of the cold and her fingers were not working as they should. While the Harpers rushed off to help Arrow and Rasaad with the remaining troll, Viconia knelt down beside Xan and started performing a healing spell. She ran her thumb over his temple where the wound was. The wizard smiled blearily and pressed his face into her hand. She blinked in surprise. The troll must have hit him harder than she thought.

"Is he healed already?" called Jaheira, resuming her human form as the party took down the last troll and hurried toward him.

"Possibly," replied Viconia stiffly. "It is difficult to tell with a male as feeble as he is. Perfect health and death's door are almost indistinguishable."

"Arowan, you have accidentally shot everyone else in this group at some point," moaned Xan, pulling himself up out of the snow. "When is it going to be her turn?"

"Ah, e- everything back to normal then," said Khalid. He stepped forward and his boot made a loud crunch. It was an unpleasant noise, quite different to the crisp sound of trudging through snow. "Oh dear."

He had located the other failed initiates, the ones who had fled the Dark Moon before they had arrived. Their bones had been picked clean and placed in a pile which blended perfectly with the snow. A layer of fresh flakes had dusted them making them practically invisible until they were directly under his foot. He jumped off of them hastily, with a revolted expression.

They continued on until they came to a series of stone steps leading up toward the East and bending off around a corner. They met a handful of monks who attacked on sight, but they were too weak to do much damage. Though they were not as under prepared for the freezing conditions as the acolytes they had met earlier, they were still shivering at their posts, their bare knuckles blue and frost bitten. Just like the Dark Moon grunts who had attacked them in Beregost, they had the tell-tale signs of suffering prolonged malnutrition. Stick-like limbs but swollen distended bellies. Dim and hollow eyes.

At length they rounded a corner, where a familiar looking monk was instructing a circle of followers. A lone cat-person was padding around in the snow with them, brushing up against their legs and nuzzling their hands affectionately. As he spoke in a strange, tremulous voice, he bent down slightly to scratch between her ears. The tattoos on his face were not those of a Sharran however, but the same Selunite markings sported by Rasaad. In fact, while all the monks with their bald heads and black markings tended to look a little like Rasaad, this one bore a distinct and specific resemblance.

He was significantly less muscular than Rasaad, though a good head taller. It was almost as though someone had taken their friend and stretched him. His face, though the individual features were similar to Rasaad's, looked older and more strained. It also bore more scars, and like his acolytes he too showed some of the signs of under-eating which was odd as he was clearly the leader. They looked to Rasaad in case he recognized this former member of his order. It appeared he did. His expression was one of stunned disbelief.

"The trials have eliminated the weak and the foolish, the clumsy and the craven," the strange monk was saying, in a dainty voice. "The winnowing leaves only you, the worthiest applicants for Shar's dark favour. Today you enter her umbra, baring not just your body and mind but also your souls to the Mistress of the Night. As you train in the darkest mysteries, you too will hear the whispers of the goddess. Believe me, her words bring no comfort! Shar does not coddle the infirm or insubordinate. But to the worthy who obeys, she grants strength and power."

Rasaad was staring, brow creased and lips slightly parted. It was as if he didn't understand or could not believe what he was hearing. The Dark Moon monk continued to address his acolytes.

"Far more than that wielded by our hated foes, the servants of the moon- What? Who dares intrude on our sanctuary?" he demanded, noticing them. His eyes landed on Rasaad and for a moment his expression mimicked his. Confusion and disbelief. "Can it be?"

"You're not another one of Gorion's wards are you?" asked Jaheira.

"Jaheira, he is talking to me," Rasaad said, finding his voice. "Gamaz! My brother! How is it you still live?"

"Rasaad?" he cried, "Why have you come here after leaving me to die in the streets of Athkatla?"

The attention of the party was fixed squarely on Rasaad and his brother Gamaz, which is why at first nobody noticed that Arowan was no longer with them. She had been bringing up the rear, arrow notched, when an unnatural fatigue settled over her. Before she could yawn a warning to the others, a hand clamped firmly over her mouth and a huge man, too heavily built for someone her size to have a hope of resisting, dragged her away. She tried to struggle but she was so frozen by this point and his muscle was so solid compared to her own that she might as well have had a boa constrictor wrapped around her.

"I did not wish to leave you brother!" protested Rasaad, oblivious. "The city guards made me. They told me you were dead. Slain by Shadow Thieves."

"I see you have learned to lie, Rasaad," Gamaz retorted, "Perhaps you too are ready to hear the whispers of Shar. I will share them with you, just as Alorgoth shared them with me."

"Alorgoth?" the monk cried sharply. He was horrified. That was the name of the man who had orchestrated the murder of the Sun Soul monks of Athkatla.

"Alorgoth found me on the street where you left me Rasaad. Rather than leave me to die, he took me into his shadow- but not to coddle me. Instead he showed me the cold, hard truth of our existence-"

The man continued in this vein for some time. Clearly he appreciated the sound of his own delicate voice, though it was unlikely that anyone else did. Though Rasaad was fixated on his brother's words, the rest of the party began looking idly about them. It was at this point they noticed that Arrow was missing. With this many enemies right in front of them, splitting the party was too big a risk. It might be that Arrow had been distracted by something or had been jumped by an acolyte or winter wolf- easily dealt with. Jaheira signalled to her husband to check back down the path. He nodded and slipped back.

"Come brother," Gamaz urged in a voice like tissue paper, "Shar has brought us back together again. We were the strongest of our order, and together the Mistress of Night will make us stronger still!"

"Your brother speaks the truth Rasaad," said Viconia at length, "In the darkness lies great power. You have only to reach in an embrace it."

"I do not believe that is true Viconia," said Rasaad firmly. "You and Gamaz have both been seduced by a lie."

Yet part of him was tempted. His brother was here, alive, and he had a chance to take back some of the life that had been stolen from him in Athkatla. A dark, tainted version of that life certainly, but a version which contained Gamaz. He looked to Arrow for reassurance that he was doing the right thing, but Arrow wasn't there.

"Khalid is getting her," Jaheira reassured him. A shadow crossed Rasaad's face, and he looked troubled.

"There is no truth in Shar, only lies. We will continue this later," he said, starting down the trail to make sure Arrow was alright.

"I think not," said Gamaz quietly. His monks took this as their cue to begin closing in menacingly on the party.

You cannot kill me," cried Rasaad. "I am your brother."

"That is true," replied Gamaz carefully. "I cannot kill my brother." Rasaad nodded and started down the steps. "Applicants, kill my brother!"

While the rest of the party were preoccupied with the applicants, Arrow and Khalid were in serious trouble. As soon as the warrior was around the corner and out of sight he too was jumped by a trio of monks. The two of them were dragged to the snow-covered cliffs. Concealed in one of the ridges was a tunnel, a back entrance to the temple. Arrow had fully succumbed to her spell and was already unconscious. Khalid was still awake but overpowered. He let out a muffled scream through the palm over his mouth, but was rewarded with a swift punch to the chest. Winded, he struggled to breathe as they were hauled deep into the compound.

Arrow had just had time to register that she was a prisoner herself before she fell unconscious. Because she was aware of this fact, she found the dream that followed rather ironic. Freya, Imoen and their party were locked in some sort of prison cell, and Arrow's idea of inflicting violence on herself to send a message was getting some use after all. Only instead of her, it was Freya who was taking the pain.

"I don't reckon this is hacking it, you'll need to injure me," the golden-haired werewolf sighed resignedly.

"Your wish is my command!" Safana replied cheerfully. "Coran, get out of the way there's a lad."

The elf thief who had been reluctantly smacking his leader in the stomach with a knuckle duster stepped back. He looked different. Or rather, _she_ looked different. Clearly he had either had a radical identity change or had fallen prey to an unfortunate curse. Judging by her generally miserable demeanour, Arrow guessed the latter. That and the fact that her clothes were extremely tight around the waist and hips, which suggested that Coran had not planned for this.

Safana stretched Freya's arm over the floor and stamped down hard. There was a crack of broken bone and a yelp.

"Reckon that will do, or shall I go for one of your legs next?" enquired Safana sweetly.

"As long as she's asleep that should be enough to get Arowan to start dreaming about me," moaned the werewolf from the floor, adding; "Lucky girl, am I right?"

"I'm in no mood for your vulgar jokes, but I will do the other arm tomorrow night, just in case your little sister stayed up late," Safana volunteered, clearly enjoying herself. She kicked Freya hard in the ribs for good measure. Minsc and Imoen, who had been stripped of their armour and weapons held her back. Safana shrugged them off, annoyed. "Hey, we've got to keep the violence going. Don't want to lose the dream-connection!"

The rest of the party looked around awkwardly. Freya's group now consisted of herself, Minsc, the three thieves; Imoen, Coran and Safana and a discrete, dignified looking woman. Arrow didn't know her but she assumed she must be the best friend Minsc had been so anxious to rescue. She was surveying both Freya and Safana with quiet disapproval.

"Just as long as that scumbag Eric isn't up to anything even more violent," Freya remarked dryly. "If he is she'll dream about him instead. Pretty sure that's how this works."

"Careful who you're calling a scumbag Freya, Eric might be watching this too," Coran warned nervously. Femininity didn't suit him. The brash over-confident man had been replaced by a woman who, while objectively very attractive, looked profoundly uncomfortable in her own skin.

"Good point Coran!" said Freya. She threw her head back and yelled at the ceiling where she imagined the necromancer to be, invisible and floating above her, just like Arrow. "Screw you Eric! When I'm done with Rieltar I'm coming for you next, you worthless piece of sh-"

"Hey Freya! I've got an idea. How about we _don't_ antagonize the evil wizard who disembowels people for kicks?" suggested Coran.

"I'll do more than disembowel him for what I had to watch him do to that paladin!" Freya snarled.

"This is about Arrow, not him!" Imoen reminded them.

"Ok then Immy, now's your chance," groaned Freya, who was clearly in a lot of pain. "I'd rather not let this be for nothing."

"Right!" nodded Imoen. She took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling and addressed empty air. "Arrow! Arrow if you are watching us right now we have been arrested by the Flaming Fist."

She jangled an iron bar to make her point. Arrow surmised that what was coming next was a request to help them. Having been captured herself, she could only hope that her friends would rescue her and she would be in a position to come to Imoen's aid.

"Now listen," the pink-haired girl spoke loudly and clearly. "Do not come to Baldur's Gate! If Freya can't beat the guards you definitely can't." Arrow scowled, invisible. "Rieltar is still in Candlekeep. You need to find him and find proof that the Iron Throne is behind the crisis."

"Shall we tell this Arowan how it was we came to be captured, Freya? Hmmm?" asked Safana angrily, kicking the groaning wolf in the shin.

"I was trying to help someone," muttered Freya.

"This idiot mongrel got a letter from some posh wench she met in Baldur's gate," snapped Safana. She put on a fake aristocratic voice and swooned theatrically. "'Oh help me Freya! My horrid boyfriend Eldoth is using me to blackmail Daddy! You simply must come at once!'"

"Knock that off," growled Freya, "And don't call Skie a posh wench, this isn't her fault."

"No," agreed Coran, "Because it turns out Skie didn't write the letter, her lover Eldoth did."

"So Madam Brainless here drops everything and makes us run, literally run, to Baldur's Gate to save her," sneered Safana, "And when we get there who should be waiting for us but Skie's slimy boyfriend with the entire city militia behind him!"

"Eldoth had better pray I never get out of here," snarled Freya.

"Let it go mate," said Coran, patting the werewolf sympathetically on her unbroken arm. "He'll have taken his reward and run halfway to Amn by now. As for Skie, she really isn't worth it. Haven't you got enough thieves in your party?"

"Dunno. Maybe," sighed Freya.

"Think of all the venereal diseases Eldoth will be carrying," Coran added bracingly, "They're all Skie's now!" Freya scowled at him, but he carried on undeterred. "Do you want them to be yours too? No? Then forget about them."

"Plenty of other fish in the sea," added Minsc wisely, "And plenty of other butts to be kicked!"

"Like this one!" agreed Safana, placing a final boot squarely on Freya's ample backside. The werewolf moaned, prompting a satisfied smile from Safana. "Moron."

Arrow woke to find herself with Khalid in a damp natural cave. Lined up in high walls were cages and there was a terrible smell of rotting flesh and faeces. Some of the creatures in the cages, which ranged from wild animals to gnolls and kobolds were dead. Most were not, though some were badly beaten or missing eyes and limbs. For such a crowded cavern it was strangely silent. None of the caged creatures dared make a noise. The minions forced Arrow and Khalid into separate cages and chained them to the bars, but they did not shut the doors yet.

"Welcome," said Gamaz. His voice was soft, almost musical. There was something deeply sinister about the way he spoke. "Rasaad might have surprised me, but you I was expecting. We saw your scouts yesterday and they saw us. It was foolish to attack anyway. It gave me time to position my strongest warriors behind you ready to pick off stragglers."

"Where are we?" Arrow asked blearily.

"My workshop," replied Gamaz, "This is where I make all my finest creations. You've met some of them already. And ruined them! But don't feel bad. I have a feeling my best work is still ahead of me."


	18. Gamaz

Gamaz floated on the balls of his toes from cage to cage, inspecting his various projects. Mucus and other fluids were dripping from some of them. He ignored the dead creatures, leaving them to rot, though their bodies were infested with maggots and cockroaches scuttled everywhere. A four-armed kobold was festering in the cage opposite Arrow's. It looked as though he had chopped the arms off another kobold and grafted them onto this one, but the experiment had failed. The join sites were clearly infected and tiny white insects were swarming around its swollen eye socket. It was impossible to tell whether the creature was alive or dead.

"Now this one is special!" he boasted, lifting up a metal-plated rat. It was not that it was wearing rat-sized armour. Instead seams of flesh and steel were visible between the remaining skin at its ankles and tail. The rest of the creature's outer layer had been stripped away and replaced with a new cold, hard casing. Eye holes had been cut crudely into the helmet, and through them red, lidless frightened eyes stared unblinkingly at them. "An early prototype but one day I will be able to forge metal golems with human intelligence. The difficulty is keeping the joints and eyes nice and moist." He eyed Khalid in a thoughtful way, as he presented the rat to him for inspection.

"Oh g- g- gods," gasped Khalid and vomited. The chains prevented him from bending over so he ended up covered with it. Arrow saw that the floor of his cage was covered in blood and flesh. It all reminded her of the aftermath of Eric's first pit fight. She padded her feet on the floor of her own cage and found it curdled and sticky. It seemed that somebody had swept away the bones and larger fragments but they had missed a piece of spine and several teeth.

"I apologize for the mess," Gamaz simpered. "This building was once a filthy shrine to Tempus, before Shar cast her cleansing shadow over it. One of their priests came poking his nose up here a few weeks back. I placed my own monk in the next cage to pose as another prisoner and find out what he wanted but he failed. It set off the security system and blew them both to pieces. Such a waste, I was looking forward to getting to work on him. I haven't had a human subject in some time and I have some ideas for improving my... conversion... techniques. We managed to retrieve some pieces of his brain to graft into one of my trolls but it ripped open its stitches and clawed them out as soon as it woke up. I'll have to restrain it next time."

Khalid tried to keep calm and wriggle his hands free of the chains, but it was useless. He tried not to look too closely at the things in the cages. At least there did not seem to be any cat-people in progress. Perhaps the monk had given up on that. His heart leapt when he heard faint battle cries and the clang of steel. It seemed their friends had fought their way into the complex.

"It's o- ok," he said, as much to reassure himself as Arrow, "Jaheira is coming for us."

"Seems your minions were unable to slay your brother," said Arrow coldly.

"That does not surprise me," Gamaz replied with an indifferent shrug. "Rasaad was always the strongest among us. Back in the monastery when we sparred, he always held back and let me win. Me! The eldest! The humiliation was unbearable."

"All this because Rasaad was more powerful than you?" Arrow asked incredulously. The smell was of offal was overwhelming, and she had to fight not to gag.

"Not anymore he isn't! Now I have his power. I have his woman," Gamaz gloated. For the second time in as many minutes it looked as though Khalid was going to be sick. He didn't though. Instead he let out a guttural howl of fury and terror. Arrow began to struggle more forcefully against her bonds.

"L- let her go!" Khalid burst out, "She's j- just a little girl!" Gamaz ignored him and started moving toward Arrow. At this point the Harper lost all self-control and became utterly hysterical. "No! Don't! Touch my ward and I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" he screamed. Khalid strained against the chains so hard that his wrists bled. Arrow had never seen him lose his grip like that before, or even come close. The shadow monk gave him a deeply patronizing look.

"Your ward? Oh, now, this is sad…" Gamaz remarked coolly. He meandered up to Khalid. "Couldn't have any real children, is that it? Or is it that your woman didn't want any? Or… perhaps it's that she doesn't want any with _you_. So you adopted an adult orphan. How pathetic." Khalid's face burned with humiliation. "Well, don't worry, I'm not planning to do anything like _that_ with your ward _._ Unlike my brother, I have never had much interest in that sort of thing."

His captives calmed down a little, but Khalid's chest was still heaving with hatred. He glared at Gamaz from under his red hair, with a wildly angry expression Arrow had never seen on him before.

"No," mused the monk in a phlegmy voice, "I have better plans for you two. You stole my favourite pet. Yes, I know all about that! My people followed her and that pink-haired brat as far as the Friendly Arm Inn, but there we lost her. She is beyond my reach with the Mirrorshades. For now."

"Leave her be," said Arrow, sounding braver than she felt. She had spotted a table covered in vicious looking implements designed to be shoved into various orifices. "Cat is an innocent, she's done nothing to you!"

" _Cat?_ " sneered Gamaz, "You gave it a _name?_ You really are a sentimental pair! And fools. Do you really think I would have spent so much effort on her if she had done nothing to me?" He ran a skinny finger down the scars on his face. Close to, it looked as though they had been inflicted with a mace or a morning star. "Your so-called 'innocent' was a high priestess of Tempus! Most of their clergy abandoned this place to fight some battle or other for their mindless deity, but a few remained to resist us when we claimed the temple for Shar. 'Cat' fought very hard to keep us out, but we broke through her defences in the end, and then… we broke her."

He smiled, his soft, trembly smile. Madness was etched all over his face.

"I'm sorry," he simpered, nasally. "I have not given you chance to make amends yet. You have stolen from me. I know how your feeble crying god feels about theft. But don't worry! You _will_ get the chance to atone for the crime of stealing Cat." His eyes narrowed. "By replacing her!"

"What is wrong with you?" yelled Arrow, "You're crazy!"

"I'm not, but you soon will be. Minions! Shave her head!"

The sounds of battle continued. They were getting closer now, and Gamaz strode away to supervise. Into each of their cages stepped a monk. Arrow felt hands reaching through the bars and grabbing her head to hold it still. Looking at Khalid out of the corner of her eye she saw that another monk was holding his skull immobile too. The one in front of him was approaching his face with a knife, while another advanced on her.

Well damned if she would give them the satisfaction of begging. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth together as the monk grabbed a handful of her long brown hair, held it taut and began hacking at it with a sawing motion. It made a strange ripping noise as it parted company with her head and fell to the bloodstained ground with a faint hiss.

"Enjoy this part," the monk mocked her. "It gets worse from here. My favourite part with your 'Cat' was slicing her tongue... it stopped her from talking and as a bonus, watching her trying to eat afterward was comedy gold. Especially when she found out what it was she'd been eating. Reckon we'll feed you your friend's balls after we've cut them off. How would you like them, roasted or fried?"

"Grilled," snarled Arrow defiantly. "I'm watching my weight."

He replied by belting her around the jaw. There was a flood of blinding pain and a copper taste filled her mouth. She probed her back teeth tentatively with her tongue and sure enough he had knocked out one of her molars. She spat it into his face. As the monk grabbed another handful, she strained to hear the sound of fighting above. It helped her block out what was happening, but as she felt the second bunch fall, she couldn't help opening her eyes and looking down. They had cut off a lot. So much that it wouldn't help if her friends disrupted them now, and from the sounds of things this was unlikely. So she shut her eyes again, forcing herself not to cry.

" _It's only hair. It would be ridiculous to cry over hair,"_ she told herself. She tried not to think about what she would look like without it. Ilmater took a dim view of vanity and she knew that she should not care what she looked like. But the truth was she did. Especially since meeting Rasaad.

Arrow accomplished her goal of not crying though, even when they came at her with foam and a shaving basin and scraped her head until her scalp bled. When they finally stopped her neck felt lightweight and strangely cold. The monk behind her released her head and she slumped forward, staring at her own hair on the ground around her feet, wondering stupidly if Xan might have some spell that would stick it back on.

"Khalid?" she managed, in a weak voice.

"I'm here Arrow," he said. She looked across at her guardian, also bald. It was so strange to see him without his signature ginger hair. It looked _wrong._ It wasn't that she found baldness ugly. Rasaad was bald and she found him more attractive than any man she'd ever met. It was that this wasn't what Khalid was supposed to look like. The monks went away, presumably to join the battle and she was just left there gawping. He gave her a brave smile. "It will be ok. It will."

And she believed him. Even though he had no power to make things be ok, she trusted his word implicitly. Just his presence made her feel inexplicably better. That and knowing that Jaheira, her great mother-bear was fighting for them above. They may have no blood connection, and they may not have met until she was almost an adult, but in her heart Khalid was her father. Not Gorion. Not Bhaal. Khalid.

Footsteps approached, and she tensed. Gamaz had returned, flanked by a trio of monks, though the battle raged on and was coming closer. Clearly, he had left his minions behind to deal with Rasaad again. Ineffectively from the sound of things. He did not seem concerned though. He scooped up a handful of Arrow's brown hair off the floor of her cage, sprinkling it with his thumb and forefinger. Arrow watched it fall.

"You look… weak." Gamaz remarked as he surveyed her new look. "It is hard to be weak isn't it? I know. I understand you better than you think."

"Yeah, yeah, you understand what it's like to be bald," said Arrow, rolling her eyes. Her mouth kept flooding with blood from the gap where her back tooth used to be, forcing her to spit every few seconds. When hurt she always had her sarcasm to fall back to. "We're basically soul mates now." Gamaz ignored her and pressed on. In truth she doubted anything she said would break through this man's fog of insanity. Still, as long as he kept talking, his minions were not mutilating them. If they could keep him talking their friends would find them, hopefully before the monks got around to shaving their teeth.

"Like you, I too was a pale imitation of a better, stronger brother."

"I have no brother," said Arrow blankly.

"I speak of your sister," he snapped as though he were speaking the obvious and she was being wilfully obtuse. "Freya."

"Gorion was her adopted father not mine," said Arrow archly. "I do not consider her my 'sister.'"

"Indeed?" for some reason Gamaz raised an eyebrow in surprise, but he chose not to elaborate further. Arrow's lips tightened. She already knew that she, Freya and Eric were all rescued from the same Bhaalist temple. It had occurred to her before that if Eric really was a Bhaalspawn then they probably all were. However, she had not made the link that this fact would make them all siblings. It was not an idea she relished.

"How did you know?" she asked heavily.

"Your sister is very famous," said Gamaz, "When I saw that you were not her, I was confused. Some sort of memory spell lingers about you, though it is almost fully broken. I sensed it. I prayed to Shar for answers… and the Mistress of Night whispered them to me."

There was an almighty crash, very close. It shook the cages, causing the creatures inside to cower even lower.

"Arowan!" cried Rasaad, very close now. Gamaz smiled, a slack-jowled smile.

"Rasaad?" she answered, "Rasaad! Help us!"

"We're over here!" yelled Khalid, "Jaheira!"

There was a scramble of feet and claws and seconds later monk and bear came skidding around the corner. Jaheira transformed back into her human form as she ran, sliding to a halt in front of Khalid's cage.

"Khalid, my love I'm here!" she gasped. She looked at his cut, shaved head and her expression turned angry. "What did he do to you?"

"Very little yet, they only sh- shaved us," he stammered, relieved. "He was going to t- t- torture us and make us like C- Cat."

Rasaad was surveying Arrow with a look of utter shock as he unchained her. She dropped to all fours and scanned the floor of the cage for her tooth but it was difficult to find with all the mess. Rasaad's eyes were pained and while Arrow had so-far refrained from crying, it looked like he might. Then his expression changed from agony to fury.

"GAMAZ!" he bellowed. He turned to his brother, shivering with rage.

"I am doing her a kindness," said Gamaz, "She will serve Shar, and when she dies her soul will belong to the shadow."

"Her soul will be Selune's! She belongs to the light!" raged Rasaad.

"My soul will be Ilmater's," said Arrow defiantly from the floor. She had gathered a collection of teeth into her palm but since she wasn't sure which was hers, she was trying to fit them into the bleeding gap one by one like puzzle pieces. "Torture me, break me, do what you did to Cat and turn me to madness. It makes no difference. The crying god will forgive! That… or Rasaad will kick some sense into you. My money is on the latter. If it wasn't, I guess I'd be begging rather than mocking you, so you probably picked up on that already… Ha! Found my tooth. Viconia, heal me so it sticks."

"Silence irreverent one! Teeth are the least of your worries. Ilmater lacks the power to save you from the Abyss," warned Gamaz, "And Selune wont because you are not one of hers. But Shar can, and she will. She will pluck you from the reach of the Abyss and into her kingdom of shadows."

"The Abyss?" she whispered, turning cold all over. "So it is true then? We will go there in the end, whatever we do?"

"Eric was right?" cried Rasaad, not wanting to believe it.

"All of Bhaal's children will," Gamaz smiled a twisted smile. "Except for you, lucky Arowan. But if my brother will join me then you needn't serve Shar as a mere 'cat'. Brother, join me in service to the Dark Lady! Eventually Arrow will follow. The three of us can make this temple strong together."

Rasaad hesitated. He had missed his brother indescribably. The idea that he could have his brother back and Arrow too was attractive, but it was a mad fantasy. The price was too high, and he did not believe that she would ever give up Ilmater while her mind was intact. Could he have accepted Gamaz's offer if she would? He wished he could be sure he wouldn't, but the temptation was there.

"Do it!" urged Viconia, "Her soul will escape the Abyss and you will have more strength than you ever thought possible. Never again watch helplessly while someone you love perishes! We will live here in Shar's umbra. Even Llolth would not dare threaten us here!"

Behind her Xan was casting spell after spell around himself and getting ready to run in case Rasaad made the wrong call. Viconia had sensed a potential safe haven here and was grasping at it with both hands. Part of him could not blame her. There was no place for her on the surface, and where better to seek sanctuary from Llolth than a mountaintop, as far removed from the Underdark as it was possible to be? However, there was no place for him here, at least not intact. He would be sacrificed to Shar, or worse.

"Arowan will be spared the Abyss," Gamaz pressured him in an oily voice. "Shar will wrap her in her protective shadow, just as she has saved your drow from the wrath of Llolth."

"Don't listen to him Rasaad! Shar lies! She will use me until my death, then leave me to my fate. You cannot save me this way!" insisted Arrow.

Her words strengthened his resolve and he cursed himself for his weakness. He had allowed this to happen to Arrow because he had been too intent on the Sharrans to pay attention to what was going on around him. The fact that any part of him had been tempted to join them was unforgivable.

"I am sorry brother, but you have been deceived," he said. His voice was still quivering with fury. "And I will never submit to the void."

"Bah!" spat Viconia, disappointed.

"Have it your way! Minions open the cages!" cried Gamaz.

He fled down a long tunnel, as his minions scampered from cage to cage flicking the latches. Khalid drew his broadsword, which they had not actually gotten around to relieving him of. With his arms and body chained there had been no immediate need. Arrow had to scan around for her bow and arrows, but they too had been deposited close by.

Viconia was staring at Arrow with her great red eyes. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, but Arrow wished that she would stop. She felt self-conscious enough already. Relieved though she was to see Rasaad, the expression on his face had cut her. Now was not the time to dwell on her appearance though. The freed creatures were advancing on them, directed by the Dark Moon monks.

"You're free, run away!" yelled Arrow. "Most of the Dark Moon cultists are dead, you owe them nothing."

"Gamaz trick us before!" cried a blinded kobold, "Open cages, let us think 'free' then punish us when we run. Oh… the punishments..." It whimpered.

"I swear we are not them!" Arrow cried.

"Maybe, maybe not," sighed the kobold, "No worth risk. If you kind, kill us. No more punishments."

Arrow reluctantly shot a fire arrow direct into its throat and it fell, its torture at an end. Khalid was hacking back two spiders at once, but he took the time to decapitate the metal cased rodent. It had no hope of survival and would only hurt more if allowed to scamper off and succumb to starvation or infection. Despite her attempt to win them over to the temple, Viconia continued to fight on their side. Her flame blade dazzled the creatures, many of whom had not seen strong light for a long time, and she took advantage of this to strike rapidly.

Xan's moonblade was likewise cutting through the creatures as they charged him. They were weak, mostly wolves and small trolls and almost all of them underfed and injured. He watched Viconia's vicious fire sword rise and fall and was reminded of the fortune teller's prediction at the Nashkel carnival. Of course this part was always going to come true. It was the other bit he was more interested in.

Jaheira and Rasaad were both incensed. They had already beaten a path through the swarming animals to the Dark Moon monks themselves and were making short work of them. Rasaad sent flurry after flurry of reckless strikes in their direction while Jaheira healed him from their blows. At the same time the crimes against both her husband and nature itself that she had witnessed had provoked her to unleash more of nature's wrath than she would normally be capable of. Vines were sweeping from the floor, hindering the monk's movement and strangling the weaker monsters.

At length they fell, leaving Arrow to pick off the last few creatures with her bow. The only things to escape were a trio of bears which did not look like they had been there for very long and whose lives seemed salvageable. As they set on her, Arrow called to Jaheira. The druid charmed them and sent them on their way. Then she stared around miserably at the mutilated dead, with their matted fur and contorted faces. Her welling blue eyes found Khalid's and they held each other without saying anything for a long time.

"Forgive me my friend," said Rasaad heavily, leaving his fallen enemies and returning to Arrow. "I thought my brother dead and never imagined he had joined the Dark Moon cult."

"Really?" said Arrow doubtfully. "He wasn't at all like this before?"

Somehow it seemed unlikely to her that evil of this extreme had simply sprung out of nowhere. In Eric's case the source was simple, and she understood it. Eric, when it came right down to it, was a coward who would do anything to save himself. Gamaz, on the other hand, seemed to have little sense of self-preservation. He had chosen this tactically disadvantageous location for unarmed monks, knowing that at some point the warrior priests of Tempus were bound to attempt to reclaim it. He had thinned his own ranks by murdering acolytes. He underfed his monks, and even himself, rendering them weaker. The only reason she could think of beyond pure madness was that he was so fixated on his experiments that he let everything else go.

"No," Rasaad frowned, "I mean, not like this. I cannot imagine what force persuaded Gamaz to turn his back on Selune and embrace the void of Shar."

"Maybe he simply wanted more power," suggested Viconia. "Shar can offer that. Although I must confess, I have never come across anything this extreme since leaving the Underdark."

"Rasaad, what do you mean by 'not like this?'" pressed Arrow.

"Does it matter?" snapped Jaheira sharply. Arrow understood her impatience to go after Gamaz, but she rather felt that it did matter. Rasaad had been the younger, and from their conversations it was clear that he had always idolized his elder brother. If he continued on in complete denial of what Gamaz really was, who knew what he might be persuaded to in their final confrontation?

"Gamaz always excelled in the monastery," Rasaad replied, looking profoundly troubled. "Among all the students he was the best. Except… Selune shine your light on this humble fool! Is it possible that I have driven my own brother into the embrace of the Dark Moon?"

Arrow had to wrestle herself very hard to refrain from facepalming or saying something sarcastic. Rasaad was utterly, utterly hopeless sometimes. She looked to the others for support. Xan looked away at once, guiltily. He too had been staring at her newly shaved head. It felt cold and strange, and must look even stranger, but at least this was reversible. She had not ended up with tattooed eyeballs or teeth filed into points.

"Surely the fault lies with Gamaz, not you," she prompted testily.

"Even when we lived in the gutters of Calimport and stole bread to survive, Gamaz was my hero," he said in a hollow, broken voice. "When he tried to steal that monk's purse and was caught, I thought he had caused a miracle, allowing us to live at the monastery."

He sat down heavily on an empty cage and buried his head into his hands. Arrow sat down next to him and tentatively put her hand on his back. She was not sure whether looking like this had changed their relationship. After all he was not obligated to find her physically appealing, but she was still his friend.

"Gamaz was always so disappointed whenever another student beat him at an exercise, but he was a fast learner. Soon nobody could surpass him except…"

"You were stronger than Gamaz weren't you?" cut in Viconia sharply. Rasaad looked up and nodded slowly.

"I am to blame for his yearning for greater power," he moaned.

Neither Arrow nor Viconia could resist scoffing at this remark.

"His brother was better at something than he was, so he starts torturing his enemies and murdering his students?" snapped Arrow. "Well there's a proportionate and reasonable reaction! Freya is better than me in pretty much every department. Perhaps when we get back to the town I should find those acolytes again and slaughter a few to make myself feel better?"

"You were stronger than Gamaz and let him win!" Viconia sneered, "You should have beaten the delicate little sap to a bloody pulp and taught him his place! Only the Milk-Maiden's followers would tolerate such mental and physical frailty."

Rasaad shrugged off Arrow and refused to look at either of them as he got to his feet and started down the tunnel after Gamaz like a furious bull.

"Not only the Milk-Maiden," Arrow snipped at Viconia. "Don't forget we're only here because the followers of Shar took him in."

"Well this follower of Shar is ready to take him _out,_ " replied Viconia. "Unlike Ilmater, the Mistress of Night will not permit just anyone into her shadow. Rasaad is strong and wasted on Selune, but Gamaz is weak in body and mind, and it is an insult to the Nightsinger that he pollutes our ranks."

They hurried after Rasaad through the tunnel, glad to escape the stench and horror of the cavern they had left behind. Arrow pulled her hood up, both against the cold and to hide her newly shaven head. At last they emerged into daylight, onto a snow and blood-covered altar set at the cavern entrance. On all other sides were sheer, vertical drops. There were few minions left to hide behind and nowhere else for Gamaz to flee. This was it. Arrow offered a silent prayer to Ilmater that Rasaad would do the right thing.


	19. Hidden Things

"Gamaz, my beloved brother, do not force me to stop you," said Rasaad.

Arrow and Khalid exchanged a doubtful look. Rasaad's adoration of his brother was touching but also deeply misguided. She was trying not to stare at Khalid's newly shaved head, especially since she hated the way the others kept staring at hers, but it was hard to get used to. She was still freezing but her replaced tooth was bothering her more. It had reattached with the healing spell, but it felt loose and delicate and every time she so much as brushed the side of her mouth her head rang with pain like the inside of a bell. Xan and Jaheira were also sharing a nervous glance but their concern was the terrain. This snow-covered ledge outside the mountain was truly stunning, affording a view across all the peaks. It was also slippery and treacherous, and it was a long way down.

"'Beloved brother?' When we were boys you only pretended to look up to me-" Gamaz replied. Once again, he launched into a self-pitying monologue that only Rasaad, and perhaps Viconia were willing to entertain.

Khalid and Jaheira both looked ready to interrupt this whiny speech and slaughter the monk where he stood, but Arrow held up a hand to stop them. From what Rasaad had described of their time in the monastery, something just didn't make sense. Certainly it sounded as though Gamaz had been a little too preoccupied with winning, but that was not a rare quality in athletic young people, and hardly a precursor to what he had been doing in the cave. How could a personality change so far so fast?

"Your brother is right Rasaad," Viconia breathed seductively into the monk's ear. "In his words hear the whispers of Shar guiding you to the shelter of the dark."

She was draping herself over the monk, and stroking his arm with one hand and his inner thigh with the other. Recently she had been holding back on overt attempts to arouse him but she clearly seemed to feel that Arrow's dip in attractiveness made Rasaad an easier target. Either that, or the potential prize of her own Sharran temple with herself and a love-slave in charge, was a chance worth turning on Arrow for.

"Of course. How else would a drow behave?" sighed Xan to himself.

Viconia's efforts were in vain though. Rasaad was so focussed on trying to save his brother that she may as well not have existed.

"Turn away from the umbra's false promises before it is too late," Rasaad pleaded. Again Gamaz refused and demanded that his minions slay his brother, though there were only a handful left. "No, Gamaz. No more hiding behind your minions. If you want me dead you must face me yourself."

"I have no brother!" replied Gamaz. He was inviting certain death, but he was still oddly unfazed. Surely if he had always been this insane, even Rasaad should have noticed before now?

"Gamaz, why are you doing this?" asked Rasaad, his voice cracking.

For a split second something flickered in Gamaz's eyes. The Dark Moon monk hastily reached for a pouch looped over his belt. He pulled out a palm sized potion, quaffed it, and tossed the empty bottle over the edge. Despite the hopelessness of the Sharran's situation, this was the first and only time the party saw him display any sense of urgency. It was short-lived. An expression of sickly calm spread over his face and he turned his attention back to his brother, though he did not look at him directly. Instead he stared off dully over Rasaad's shoulder.

"Becoming more powerful was the last thing I really cared about before... before I stopped caring," came Gamaz's strange reply. "So I just carried on."

"Brother that is insane!" cried Rasaad. "I do not understand! If you no longer care then why are you doing this?"

"Why not?" Gamaz asked vacantly. 

Later, when Arrow looked back on this and felt guilty for not realising what was wrong with him until it was too late, she had to remind herself that her state of mind was Gamaz's own fault. The horrors she had witnessed and her sudden, drastic change in appearance had badly shaken her. Had she not been in a state of shock, she might have picked up on the similarities between the sadistic behaviour of Rasaad's brother and her own.

As it was, she had no time to think before the remnants of the cult charged them. Rasaad ignored them, and shrugging off Viconia went straight to Gamaz. Arrow pulled back her bow but was overpowered before she could release a shot. She was stiff with cold and able to offer little resistance as a monk tackled her to the ground and struck her in the face. Arrow almost passed out, near-blinded with pain. He raised his fist, but never had a chance to land his second blow. His chest burst open over Arrow in an explosion of blood and fire.

Viconia pulled out her sword and kicked the monk off the ranger, then whipped around panting to find her next target. Arrow's bald head was clamped in agony from the punch and she was too dizzy to make sense of what was going on. She was lying next to a corpse in the snow, and her skin was screaming with cold. The stench of burning human flesh filled her nostrils. For the first time in combat since leaving Candlekeep, Arrow suffered from a full-blown morale failure. She wailed and curled into a ball in the snow, shivering uselessly.

Fortunately the others had the situation in hand. Xan was well-prepared, having cast every defensive spell he had memorized on himself while Gamaz was ranting in the cave. He picked up a handful of snow and whispered an incantation over it. Then he threw it into the air as a glittering powder. It settled harmlessly around his allies, but two of the Dark Moon monks howled and pawed at their eyes.

Viconia took the opportunity to run another one through. It was a good thing that their cleric was on-form. Jaheira had drained herself of both her magic and her transformations and was using her staff to limited effect. Most of her energy was focussed on herding her party away from the cliff's treacherous edges making sure nobody slipped over. Khalid was drained by his capture too, though nowhere near to the same extent as Arrow. He was not fighting at his best. One of the blinded monks kicked his sword from his hand. He stumbled backward and slipped in the snow.

As he rose unsteadily to his feet, Viconia swung her fire sword into Khalid's back.

The half-elf tensed, his face a mask of shock. There was a ripping, hissing noise and a smell of cooking meat that was disturbingly delicious. He turned around, blood gushing out of his mouth and stared at the drow in disbelief. Xan ran his moonblade through the half-starved minion he had been engaging, but he did not take his eyes off her.

Unless Viconia was the best actress in all of Faerun, Xan was certain that she had made a mistake. As Khalid turned and she saw his face, her expression turned from one of murderous triumph to unadulterated shock. She had been about to strike again with her sword, but when Khalid turned to face her, she froze, opening and closing her mouth silently and shaking her head.

"No, no I…" she stuttered.

"Traitor!" screamed Jaheira. Khalid dropped to his knees and then collapsed, face down into the snow.

"No!" screamed Viconia, horrified, dropping her sword. The fire blade dissipated in a flash of magical energy. "No, I didn't mean to I swear!"

The druid sank to her knees frantically chanting healing spells over Khalid's gushing wound. There was a horrible smell of smouldering meat. She had already used up her strongest spells storming the temple and healing Rasaad in the cave. What she had left was not enough and with his every pulse the skin she half-healed burst open again.

"I can help!" cried the cleric. The snow was turning scarlet around their fighter. "Let me help!"

"GET AWAY!" screamed Jaheira.

"It was an accident!" gasped Viconia, "His hair- they shaved his hair- I forgot. I thought he was one of the monks. You have to let me help him, he'll die." Khalid was starting to make a hideous rattling noise as he breathed and his body was convulsing.

Lying in her ball on the ground, enough of what was going on penetrated Arrow's consciousness to snap her out of it. She came to her senses and ran to her fallen father. Viconia was hovering, not permitted to help while Jaheira was guarding her mate. Her red eyes were franticly appraising Arrow and Xan, trying to decide whether she should stay and try to heal Khalid, or flee before one of them attacked her.

"Let her help," yelled Arrow, crouching by Jaheira.

"No! Nooo…" sobbed Jaheira. There was nothing for it. The ranger smacked her cheek, hard, with her frozen hand. Jaheira stopped crying and looked up at her, livid. In response, Arrow drew an arrow and trained it on Viconia's temple.

"Let her help," Arrow said, keeping her voice as calm and level as she could. "If she hurts him, she dies, I swear it." Jaheira hesitated. "I swear it."

Finally Jaheira nodded and Viconia dropped to her knees beside Khalid calling upon her more powerful healing spells to aid him. The druid was contributing as best she could but after their long battle she had little magic left. The wound was severe but Viconia kept chanting and running her hands over it and gradually she managed to stabilize him.

When the last healing spell was used up the women tore their attention from Khalid. Xan was staring out at the edge of the cliff, blood dripping from his sword into the snow, a dead minion at his feet. They followed his gaze, and there was Rasaad, knelt over his dying brother.

"I am… sorry… brother…" Gamaz choked. Even on the verge of death, he still seemed oddly detached. "As the silver moon waxes and wanes, so too does life. I take some solace… in the fact that I die… at your hand."

The servant of Shar took his last breath, shuddered and moved no more. Psychopathic though the man was and necessary though his death might be, Khalid could take no satisfaction in it. Only a sort of grim relief. Viconia on the other hand nodded approvingly. She had doubted whether Rasaad had the will to end the life of his own sibling. Had he done as she wished and turned to Shar, she had expected that she herself would need to take care of the mad weaker brother later, discretely.

"Rasaad, I am sorry that it had to come to this," said Jaheira, her voice harshly formal.

"All this time I had thought my brother was dead," Rasaad gasped, staring at his brother's body in despair. "What misfortune brought us together again only to prove he was lost to me?"

"It is important to remember that Gamaz was lost in darkness long ago. Today you finally gave him peace," said Jaheira.

"'The weary old moon holds the new moon in her arms until she too must sleep.' Death brings both sorrow and relief. Thank you for the reminder sister," Rasaad sighed.

"Forgive me," said Xan, "But we should check his body for papers-"

"I cannot bear to loot my brother's body," Rasaad choked. As he looked at Gamaz, his normally stony jaw was trembling. "I- I will wait outside the temple."

He strode back the way they had come very fast. None of them moved to follow him. Rasaad took great pride in his strength and self-discipline. If he was on the edge of tears they would afford him the dignity of letting him cry in private. Gamaz's weak under-fed body lay in the snow, pale and drawn. Even in death his expression was strangely neutral.

The monk had little of interest on his person. No papers or letters that gave any clues as to his master. Only a large amount of gold. Xan remarked that this was strange, as it demonstrated that Gamaz had the means to purchase food all along.

"Perhaps he needed the gold for something else," Xan wondered, "A tithe perhaps?"

He continued searching and relieved the corpse of the potion bag and a pair of fine gauntlets which they kept for Rasaad. Xan opened the little sack and pulled out a miniature grey glass bottle. When Arrow saw it she almost screamed.

She recognized the grey potion. She had seen ones just like it before, many times in the Black Pits. She was no expert on potions but this looked just like the ones Eric had been taking. The ones Bubbles said had driven him out of his wits. She took the bag from Xan, stuffing the grey potion back and mouthed, 'No!' He frowned under his brown hair. Yet from the pleading look in her eyes and considering everything she had been through he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and said nothing to the others.

She peeked into Gamaz's potion bag. Sure enough it was stuffed with the cursed things. This must be what he had been spending the gold on instead of feeding himself and his minions. Just like Eric, Gamaz had been addicted to numbing potions.

Despite what Gamaz had just done to her, her conscience was pricking, but it was nothing to what Rasaad would feel if he ever discovered the circumstances in which he had killed his brother. And she was determined that he would never find out. Whether Alorgoth had forced him to take them in the beginning, or whether he had taken them voluntarily, it raised a question over how responsible for his own actions the monk really was.

The bottles in the bag throbbed with an unnatural cold. She was horrified by their power. What these little potions had done to Gamaz and Eric was beyond belief. They may not be evil in their own right. However, they seemed to have the power to make vulnerable people susceptible to being pushed toward evil… Eric by Baeloth and the Hooded Man, and Gamaz by Alorgoth. In the wrong hands this little bag could be the most dangerous thing in Faerun. Her first instinct was to hurl it over the cliff.

Yet something stayed her hand. Arrow did not know much about potions and could not be certain they were what she thought they were. She had two reasons for wanting them identified. Firstly, if they were not what she thought they were, her conscience would rest a little easier over Gamaz's death. Secondly, she did not believe Rasaad's prediction that Eric would die in the pits. She wanted to hear from an expert, to understand. How much of what her brother had done was his own intrinsic evil and how much came from the potion? Was it possible to recover from such an addiction, could he be brought back?

Gamaz had died pursuing the last thing he really cared about before he started taking the numbing potions; becoming more powerful. What had Eric cared about most? Not Bubbles apparently. His driving goal had been to avoid the abyss, which meant staying alive at all costs. She was beginning to form an idea of how these potions worked. Love, fear, hate, empathy... ultimately these combine to direct a person's goals. They will then pursue these goals until another combination of feelings deflects them toward something else. With their feelings stripped away, there was no pity, no guilt, no fear. Nothing to redirect Gamaz and Eric from the last path their emotions set them on. So they simply chased those goals relentlessly, unmoved by the pain they were causing to others. Arrow shuddered.

They made their way back through the temple, Arrow and Jaheira half-carrying Khalid. He screwed his eyes shut through the cave and let them guide him through it. The ranger could not help staring at her own cage as she passed it, with her hair strewn over the floor. She had heard there were curses which could be enhanced if you possessed a lock of the target's hair.

"Xan, I don't want to leave the hair. Could you-?"

"Seems pointless since we're all doomed anyway," he sighed, sending a fireball spewing through the two cages, incinerating the brown and ginger hair and making the bars glow red-hot. He looked over at Viconia who was ambling along confidently. She did not seem to realise yet how much hot water she was in with their leader for stabbing her husband.

Rasaad was sitting on the steps outside the temple with his head in his hands. Jaheira put a hand on Arrow's arm.

"We'll meet you back at camp," she said quietly.

"It is hard to kill a sibling," said Viconia, though she sounded more admiring than comforting. "I understand. Some of my sisters put up a tremendous fight."

"You shut up!" spat Jaheira.

"W- what?" Viconia stammered.

"You almost killed my husband," the druid snarled, "I took you in when nobody in their right mind would have done so, yet you stabbed him in the back anyway. Why are you still here? Go away."

"It was an accident," she replied defiantly.

"Jaheira you can't send her away!" cried Arrow.

"I am in no mood for your Ilmatari forgiveness bullshit right now!" their leader snapped.

"No I mean you _can't_ send her away," Arrow insisted. "Khalid can barely stand, it'll take us days to get him to the town and even then it is too small to have its own temple. This is not a good time to be banishing our cleric!"

"I can heal him when I've rested and memorized my spells," said Jaheira.

"That'll take days by yourself," said Arrow, "Assuming his wounds don't get infected in the meantime. Plus, not to be selfish or anything, but he isn't the only one who needs healing!"

"Then stay till we've rested," Jaheira snarled at Viconia, "Refresh your spells, undo some of the damage you've done and we'll decide what to do with you then. May the gods have mercy on you if you try anything."

The party limped back to camp, pockets and hearts much heavier. Only Arrow remained behind, sat on the steps next to Rasaad. She was so cold and not moving was making it worse, yet she feared that left alone he might sit there until he froze to death.

"What should we do with his body?" she asked at length.

"You… you are not going to insist that we revive him?" asked Rasaad. Arrow detected a tiny note of hope in his voice and her heart cracked a little.

"No," she said quietly. Rasaad hung his head. "He was sorry, I think, in the end. If we revive him he will turn back to Shar eventually and even greater evil. He gave himself a chance to be forgiven when he is judged in the next life. I would not be so cruel as to deprive him of it."

She was sure that had Rasaad known about the numbing potions he would not have stopped his brother. He might attempt to revive him even now, though there was no temple in the town at the base of the mountains and it was unlikely they could get him to one in time.

At the same time, Gamaz's life was past restoring. In the unlikely event that they managed to revive him, if he failed to break his addiction he would return to his role in the Dark Moon cult. Torturing people, mutilating animals. Maybe even succeeding in creating his hideous metal golems, gods forbid. Of all the kills she had made since leaving Candlekeep, this one would be the easiest to justify before Ilmater.

In the end Rasaad decided to push his brother over the cliff edge and into the canyon below where snow would bury him. It had the advantage of being inaccessible. They had no oil for a funeral pyre but there seemed little hope that a more formal grave would be allowed to lie undisturbed. Sooner or later the followers of Tempus who built this place were going to reclaim it. There was no chance that they would see the evidence of what Gamaz had done here and still permit his tomb to exist in the vicinity.

They returned to camp in silence, finding to Arrow's relief that the others had already built a campfire. Viconia was in the women's' tent, whether voluntarily or by Jaheira's insistence was unclear. Rasaad went straight to the men's tent without saying anything. His jaw was clenched and pained. The ranger sat as close to the fire as she could without burning herself. Perhaps she was burning herself, she was too numb to tell. At length her arms and legs began to prickle like they were being bitten by a thousand ants as her circulation returned.

They ate some dried meat and bread, but there was no conversation. Everyone just stared at the fire, worrying. Eventually Jaheira stepped into the tent with Viconia, but emerged almost immediately holding her and Arrow's bedrolls. She carried them into the men's tent. Clearly her intention was that nobody should risk sleeping in the presence of the drow.

Dawn was approaching. On the pretext of answering a call of nature, Arrow slipped into the wood by herself. Alone, save for the trees, she drew her dagger and polished it on the edge of her tunic. The moonlight reflected brightly off of the blade. It wasn't as clear as an actual mirror, but it would be enough to get an idea. She lifted the flat edge to her face and peered at her reflection. It was far worse even than she had expected.

The monks had not done a very neat job of shaving her. Parts of her head were close-shorn and bleeding, other areas had odd little tufts and patches. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she had a huge lump on her forehead from where the monk had hit her which did not help the overall impression. Thinking how Cat's hair had been starting to form a dull fluff when she left with Imoen for the Friendly Arm Inn, she tried to estimate how long it would take her hair to grow back. A long time.

" _Are you so conceited that you are mourning your hair? When all your party escaped alive? While Rasaad is in that tent suffering for the death of his brother? When Imoen is stuck in a prison cell and needs you?"_ Arrow berated herself, but then she pictured tomorrow when she would have to walk into town like this. To have to talk to people while looking out of place as well as feeling it. She thought of what Rasaad would see when she and Viconia stood next to each other. It had been an unequal contest before. Her shoulders started to shake. The more she looked the worse it seemed.

"Ilmater forgive me," she whispered, and then she sobbed wracking, silent tears.

"Th- there is nothing to forgive," said Khalid gently. She sat bolt upright, furious with herself both for weeping over a bit of hair and for getting caught doing it. He crouched down and hugged her. "And n- nobody is going to n- n- notice you specifically. You're with m- me and Rasaad, remember? We'll just t- tell people we're with the circus."

Arrow laughed, and then gritted her teeth and buried her face into his shoulder, while her own shoulders shook and heaved. He still had dried vomit down his breast plate, which was probably now rubbing off on her wet cheeks, but she ignored it.

When Arowan cried, which was rare, she did so silently. This was a leftover from her days in Candlekeep. She had always felt acutely aware and uncomfortable about the fact that her presence was an imposition on the monks. It had been impressed upon her from an early age how grateful she must be to Gorion and how fortunate she was to have a home in Candlekeep compared to all the orphans left to starve in slums. This made her feel she never had any right to be unhappy. And yet she was. So she had grown very adept at hiding it.

A soft, heavy weight landed in her lap with a thump. Arrow looked up from Khalid's chest. The world looked fuzzy through her tears and she blinked a few times to clear them. At first she thought a furry animal had jumped into her lap and moved to shoo it away, but then she realized it was not alive. She picked it up. It was a wig. Brown, wavy, soft and of extremely good quality, but a wig nevertheless.

Jaheira's hair.

"What?" the ranger managed, looking up at her other guardian who was standing over her with her arms folded and a stern expression on her face. Jaheira's scalp was covered in burn scars. The real hair grew only in sporadic patches and the druid had cut it back to accommodate the wig. Arrow looked from Jaheira to the hair in her hands and back again. Jaheira shrugged.

"I lost mine permanently more than a decade ago," she told her. "One of my assignments from the Harpers went badly wrong. I turned my face away in time, but my back and hair were engulfed in magical flames. It was all the clerics could do to save my life, and they almost didn't manage that. There was nothing they could do about the scars."

"I… I'm sorry Jaheira. I didn't know," whispered Arrow. The druid smiled and put a hand on Arrow's shoulder.

"Exactly," she said kindly. "You didn't know. I get magical wigs like this one, which mould perfectly to my head, and they're indistinguishable from the real thing unless I choose to remove it. All you need to do is replace them every other year. Next time I think I'll try blonde," she mused, and laughed. "Now, do you think I'm vain?"

Arrow shook her head mutely.

"There is no shame in wanting to be free to choose how you present yourself to the world," Jaheira assured her. "Gamaz robbed you of that freedom, but only for a little while. Your hair will grow back, and if you like we can get you a substitute when we get to Baldur's Gate. I know a shop."

Arrow hugged her, and Jaheira held her back, stroking her bald head. Arrow wiped her eyes.

"The cold feels weird. Maybe I could wear a scarf in the meantime," she murmured.

"We'll sort one out," the druid nodded, and supported by the Harpers, a drained and exhausted Arrow made her way back to camp. She started toward her and Viconia's tent, but Jaheira steered her into the other one. "I don't want any of the party alone with the drow right now," she said. "Rest in here. With any luck she'll run away before we wake up and we won't have to deal with her."

The tent was crowded with five bed rolls in it. Jaheira placed Arrow between herself and Rasaad, with Khalid on her other side and Xan taking first watch. The ranger found herself too fatigued to argue and buried down to sleep. The first half of her rest she slept quite peacefully but after a call of nature she fell asleep again. This time found her dreams disrupted by her brother.

"And now my anticipating audience! Adhere your eyes to an audacious array of sensational sorcery!"

"Get on with it," sneered Eric.

"See how our nefarious necromancer becomes irascibly itchy to incinerate our illustrious illithid!" Baeloth blustered, but he was looking at Eric with distinct apprehension. "I present the blood-soaked behemoth of battle and his brutal band of murderous misfits! Eric! The Bhaalspawn!"

To Arowan it felt like she was watching from above as the young man in crimson robes stepped over a pile of charred crumbled bones to survey the cheering crowd. His companions, Bhaal cultists to judge by their tattoos, spread out eagerly around the pit but he himself wore a bored, haughty expression. She still could not believe what she had witnessed him do in his last fight. The trembling boy from her first vision was clearly long gone. Perhaps in a sense he had died battling the first half-ogre after all.

At the opposite end of the pit an illithid stood, surrounded by four armoured green umber hulks. It hissed through its tentacles defiantly but she could see the tension in its posture. As always, this was to be a fight to the death, but it was not an equal fight.

Just at the last second before the battle began, the captured illithid looked up. It cocked its tentacled head to one side. To her horror the telepathic beast was staring directly at her. This had never happened in one of her dreams before. She was supposed to be invisible, untouchable. A chill wind ripped through Arowan's body. _It knows I'm here! It can see me!_

It peered into her mind and at the same time she got a sense of its own. Amongst the flurry of evil images and the rushing feelings of hate and fear she felt emanating from the psychic creature, she sensed a sudden flame of hope. If it could use her presence to distract the Bhaalspawn, victory might be possible after all!

**You have hitchhikers in your brain, Bhaalspawn. Did you know? Look, here they are.**

The illithid had peered into Eric's mind and seen Arrow inside. Now it was revealing her to him and the young wizard was glaring at her too, his face a mixture of alarm and fury.

"What in the nine hells are you doing here?" he bellowed at her, to the confusion of the crowd who had gathered to watch this fight to the death. As far as they were concerned Eric was screaming at empty air. "You're not real! You don't belong here! Get out of my mind both of you. GET OUT! OUT!"

He was focussing a little way to her left and she followed his gaze. With a jolt she realized that the illithid had revealed them all to each other and she could see her sister, Freya, hovering above Eric just like she was. The cocky werewolf caught sight of her, grinned, waved, pointed to her hair and gave Arrow a thumbs up, then mouthed 'Candlekeep.' Finally she spat at Eric. It was insubstantial, invisible dream-spit, but he got the gist.

The necromancer focussed his energies on the werewolf and pushed. In the split second before Freya vanished from his mind, her expression changed. She screwed up her eyes as though bracing herself against something unpleasant. Behind Eric the illithid was creeping up. It had seen them in his mind and shown them to Eric as a distraction so that it could defeat him in the pit. Arrow did not really fancy its chances, but she selfishly hoped that it might get lucky and finish her brother off.

For the first time Arrow and Eric made eye contact. His eyes were grey, though magic or nature had given them a slight greenish tinge around the edge of his irises. He was glaring at her purposefully and she felt him focussing his power at her. The last thing she saw before what felt like a poisonous icy gale engulfed her, was the Hooded Man in the stands getting to his feet and looking at Eric curiously. He, of course, could not see her or Freya but she expected that the boy would be made to tell him all about them now.

"AROWAN! AROWAN!"

Khalid was shaking her awake. Arowan sat bolt upright, eyes wide. The fighting pits, the mind flayer and the Bhaalspawn were gone. Her companions were staring at her. Xan seemed a little unnerved. Her head hurt. This was not her first violent dream inside someone else's head but because of the illithid, Eric was the first to become directly aware of her presence and he had pushed her out with brutal force.

"That was a terrifying way to wake up Arrow," moaned Xan. "Anyone would think from the way you were screeching that a dragon had swooped down and set the tent alight."

"You woke me up the same way enough times after we saved you from Mulahey," Rasaad reminded him sharply. Xan glared at him. He had never actually asked the monk not to talk about that, he had just assumed he wouldn't, but for once the man was not in the mood to be considerate of other people's feelings.

"Shit!" Arrow cried.

Everyone looked a little taken aback. Though frequently sarcastic and somewhat undiplomatic, the Ilmatari ranger rarely cursed.

"It's Eric," she groaned, "He knows about me and Freya now. That we're real people and not just dreams."

She recounted her vision to the rest of the party, massaging her temples. The lump from the previous night was getting larger and she could barely open her left eye. The others seemed as unconcerned about Eric as Rasaad had been. The consensus was that Eric would probably be killed in a pit fight soon, and even if he managed to free himself, what reason did he have to come anywhere near her? Arrow wished she shared their confidence.

"And Imoen did say that you can't h- hurt each other," Khalid reminded her. "As long as she exists, carrying a piece of each of your souls the three of you are bound together. So there's really nothing he can do." This thought made Arrow relax a little.

Khalid's wound had partially opened in his sleep. Outside the tent, Jaheira was standing watch, with Viconia. Both druid and cleric were already dressed and waiting eagerly to heal Khalid. With their combined efforts the warrior soon felt much better and set about preparing breakfast and polishing the previous days blood and vomit from his armour. The cleric even had enough left over to heal Arrow's head and some flesh wounds of Rasaad's and Xan's. It was not enough to pacify their leader.

"You stabbed my husband in the back," Jaheira said stonily. It was clear that she was going to have a hard time getting past that point.

"It wasn't my fault," Viconia pleaded, "He looked just like one of them with his head shaved! It was the heat of battle, everything was happening so fast and I made a mistake. I didn't mean to do it, you have to believe me."

"I believe you," croaked Khalid. The drow looked like she could have kissed him.

"I don't!" snapped Jaheira, "You almost killed my husband, I want you gone!"

"You weren't so concerned when she almost murdered me," muttered Xan resentfully. "And that was intentional."

"She also saved my life, and Arrow's," Khalid stepped in to defend the woman who had so badly injured him. Jaheira opened her mouth angrily but Khalid cut her off. "No Jaheira, our family o- owe her."

Jaheira's jaw spasmed, but in spite of it being clear who generally wore the trousers in the marriage, when push came to shove, she did respect her husband.

"A vote then," she said. "Khalid says stay. I say go."

"I also say go," Rasaad said harshly. "We gave you a chance, and you stabbed us in the back. Not to mention trying to persuade me to betray the party in favour of the Night Whisperer. I swear I never wish to see another follower of Shar as long as I live."

"Arowan?"

"I still say stay," said Arrow curtly. "Albeit with increasing reservation. Frankly I'm not so crazy about Shar worshippers right now either." Jaheira glared at her and muttered something to Khalid under her breath which sounded like 'Daddy's girl.' Khalid mussed up Arrow's hair, only her hair was gone. For a moment he looked worried and guilty, but she forced herself to laugh.

That left only one vote. Xan.

Viconia sighed and went into her tent to begin packing up her possessions. As she did so a few private, angry tears began to fall. Travelling with this party was not only the safest she had felt since coming to the surface, but the safest she had ever felt anywhere. She could sleep without keeping one eye open. They were fools, but they were useful, dependable fools and now she was alone again. The tent opened and she stiffened and busied herself packing, hiding her face so that the ranger would not see her tears.

"Thank you for your support Arrow," she said formally, "And don't feel bad, this isn't your fault. Xan had better pray that we never cross paths again! That limp, pathetic creature knows full well it was an accident." She sighed. "I blame his parents you know. They ought to have exposed the little maggot at birth."

There was a _very_ frosty pause.

"I believe you did not intend to hurt Khalid," said Xan stiffly, "The vote was three against two. I came to tell you that you can stay."

Viconia spun around. He caught a brief glimpse of her tear stained face, and wide, grateful eyes. The next thing Xan knew she was pulling him close, crushing her lips over his. Through their clothes he could feel the curves of her body pressed against him. One of her hands was resting softly on his back, the other tangling in his hair.

" _What in the nine hells is happening?!"_ Xan thought, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. Was she only throwing herself at him because she wanted to stay with the group? There was no need, he'd already given her his support. He wished fervently that he knew how to cast a time-stop spell so that he could pause to consider this. As it was, he couldn't think… gods she was warm. She was softly running her tongue over his lower lip and he felt his mouth part involuntarily for her. _"What am I doing?"_

Kissing back apparently, because his hands were cupping her face, and he had no idea how they'd got there. Her silver hair was cascading over his fingers. For her own part, Viconia had acted completely spontaneously, carried forward on a wave of relief. Was she really so starved of male attention that she was having to resort to Xan? Revolting! Just like that, the pair came to their senses and broke apart abruptly. Xan swallowed. Elf and drow stared at each other in horror as it dawned on each of them what they had just done. It was hard to tell which face showed more disgust.

"Begone male!" Viconia commanded, and for once Xan accepted her order unquestioningly, tripping over the tent flap in his hurry to obey.


	20. Melicamp

"Arrow… gods. I don't know what to say. Are you alright?" Xan asked tentatively.

"I think so," Arrow replied in a hollow, traumatized voice. She was white and trembling all over. Xan patted her arm sympathetically. "You know Xan, I expected I would come across some bad stuff on the road. Monsters, traps, curses and that sort of thing… I even had my head shaved by mad cultists but I… I never imagined anything as horrendous as that."

"Nothing could have prepared someone for what you just had to endure," Xan said, "But it's over now."

"Is it though?" cried Arrow, looking around frantically. "What if she comes back?"

"Then, to tell the truth Arrow," he said sadly, "I think it might have been better for you if you had died from that fever you caught in Beregost after all."

Xan shook his head, his eyes weak with pity. After everything the young ranger had been forced to endure already, what had just happened seemed unbearably cruel. They were sitting in the only inn in the town below the mountains, taking in a good meal and restocking their provisions before the journey North to Candlekeep.

"What are you whining about?" asked Viconia, taking the chair between them. The ranger whipped around, looking every bit as angry with her as Jaheira had been when the cleric had stabbed Khalid.

"This is all your fault!" cried Arrow. "If you didn't keep making all those sexual innuendos about me and Rasaad, none of this would have happened! Jaheira would never have given me that awful, awful lecture!"

"It was one of the worst things I have ever witnessed," agreed Xan, unable to resist a grin. "The memory of it will haunt you, always. I admire your will to go on."

It had been the most cringeworthy experience of Arrow's entire life. In order to counter all of the inappropriate advice that Viconia had been imparting, Jaheira had decided that Arrow required a sex education lesson. It had gone on for an agonizingly long time. Arrow, being by nature both uncommunicative and squeamish when it came to intimate issues, had spent the whole time staring desperately at the door. She'd even found herself wishing for assassins to burst in and distract her or, at the very least, to kill her and put her out of her pain.

First the druid had forced Arrow to accept a contraceptive potion which the ranger shoved miserably into the depths of her pack, in the hopes that cooperation would make the half-elf stop talking. This strategy failed spectacularly. Jaheira proceeded to give her an unnecessarily graphic (in Arrow's opinion) description of what one might expect from one's first time. She emphasized the girl's right to say 'no' to anything she was uncomfortable with, to which Arrow had replied, "I'm uncomfortable with this conversation Jaheira, and I want to exercise my 'right to say no' to it!"

"Now if you do not have access to a birth control potion for whatever reason," Jaheira went on, thoroughly disrespecting Arrow's right to say 'no' and ploughing ahead anyway. "There are a number of other bedroom activities which carry no risk of pregnancy. For example, are you familiar with the term oral sex?"

"No, and I don't want to be!" whined the Ilmatari, looking to Xan in a silent appeal for help. The wizard had only shaken his head in a pitying way and shrugged helplessly.

"Now really Arowan!" Jaheira had chided her, "Half the orphanages in the sword coast could shut their doors if it weren't for people like you being too squeamish to talk about a perfectly natural part of loving relationships."

She had gone on to describe oral sex. In considerable detail. Tongue-level detail. Arrow responded that it sounded unhygienic, but no amount of sarcasm was going to put the druid off. Instead her remark had prompted Jaheira to list a range of interesting venereal diseases which could be acquired from intimate acts, and the warning rashes and oozes to watch out for. She conceded that this issue was unlikely to apply to Rasaad, but this had not prevented her from grabbing a napkin and drawing some of them. The ranger was tempted to ask how it was that Jaheira had come to be so familiar with these afflictions, only she feared the explicitness of the answer. There was worse to come however. The druid had started detailing female orgasm and how best to achieve it, bringing up examples that were clearly referring to herself and Khalid. Arrow would not have blamed her own ears had they detached themselves from her head and run away in protest.

"It may be embarrassing but it is useful!" Jaheira had snapped impatiently.

"Well it has put what happened to me in the mountains into perspective, so it has been useful in that respect!" Arrow grumbled back. "You've proven to me that there are much worse tortures out there than having one's head shaved. Like talking to you about sex!"

Finally the nightmare ended when the mayor came to find them, thankful to them for rescuing their wayward acolytes and putting an end to the cult in the mountains. He had brought with him a quiver of fire arrows and a nice selection of headscarves as a thank you present to Arrow. She chose a discrete brown one and tied it around her head so that it fell over her shoulders like her own hair would have done. She looked at her reflection in the inn window. It really wasn't so bad like this.

"I am sorry your experience with the Cloud Peaks was so unpleasant," the mayor said sadly. He meant it too. The town and scattered villages at the base of the mountains were desperate for a ranger. "We have sent word to the nearest chapel of Tempus. Hopefully they will reoccupy the temple and the Sharrans will be gone for good."

"Oh believe me I've experienced much more unpleasant things recently," Arrow shuddered, with a nasty look at Jaheira. "I really liked it here. Lunatic monks notwithstanding."

"You did?" the mayor perked up hopefully.

"I have to go North and help a friend," she said to him, "But if the position is still vacant when we're done…"

"It has been vacant for seven years, I don't see why it wouldn't be!" beamed the delighted Mayor. "Oh this is wonderful, we will have the cabins prepared ready. A ranger of our own, I can scarce believe it."

He sent the party on their way with all the food they could carry, and the former-acolytes came to wave them off. The mayor insisted on replacing Arrow's coat with a brand new one, waterproofed with fine wax and lined with expensive looking fur. She tried to refuse it when he told her it had protective enchantments on it, but he would have none of it and pressed on her some Boots of the North which were imbued with cold resistance.

"Oh no, no," he said. "Your mission sounds dangerous and we need our ranger back alive, you hear me? Put them on then! Let me see you put them on!"

In the end Arrow accepted gratefully. They would come in useful when she returned to take up her post, and she left the village with her mood much improved.

They made good time and by the time the sun started to set on the second day they had reached the farmlands West of Beregost. The party met nobody along the road except a lone ogre who charged at them but was rapidly dispatched by Viconia. Arrow annoyed her by insisting they bury the body in a shallow roadside grave.

"Don't you ever spare a thought for the poor sods who have to clear the corpses off of their fields?" Arrow sighed.

"No," said Viconia flatly. "I don't."

She had been hunted in this region prior to joining the party. Her experience with these farmers suggested that they were much less sensitive than Arrow supposed, and the unpleasant memories were making her prickly. Moreover, she kept imagining that figures in the distance were staring at them.

"Watching us? They probably are," Xan shrugged, peering at two robed men and a halfling in the distance. "Let's face it there's not a lot to watch out here. Should we camp now? With any luck we'll make Candlekeep by morning."

The party agreed to this and set up their tents by the side of the same river that Arrow had once almost drowned in, albeit upstream. They were trying to avoid pitching too far into the farmer's fields, which would likely only annoy them. There was no wood available for a fire but the evening was mild and the mayor had provided them with a fine selection of fruits, bread, cooked meat and cheese which could be enjoyed cold.

"Join me for a swim?" suggested Viconia pleasantly, after she had eaten her fill. Rasaad, who was meditating near the water's edge shook his head mutely. She turned to Xan who had a sausage impaled on a fork in one hand and his spell book in the other.

"Why?" asked Xan dryly, "So that you can demonstrate to everybody that you have the most attractive body? Is this how drow establish their hierarchy?"

"Not at all," she purred, picking up his eating knife and tracing it slowly over his chest. "We establish our hierarchies by slaughtering anyone above us who is weaker so that we can move up. You should consider yourself fortunate indeed that you were not born a drow Xan."

"Still think it was a good idea to keep her around?" Jaheira smirked at the wizard. "Or do you want to change your vote before she sacrifices us all?"

"Sacrificing Xan would be an insult to Shar!" declared Viconia, "It would be the equivalent of leaving a dead mouse on her doorstep."

The wizard responded by calling her something that made Rasaad's eyes spring open and Arrow sign the symbol of Ilmater. Xan closed his book with an irritated snap, got up and retreated into his tent. "Go play with your wand!" Viconia hollered after him angrily.

"Eh, I could go for a swim," shrugged Arrow. She hadn't in a while, not a proper one where she wasn't being weighed down by armour. Having no desire to strip in front of the others, (her faith prohibited that in non-exceptional circumstances in any case), she tossed aside only her boots, scarf, cloak and hide armour and jumped in.

Unfortunately she did not think to remove her belt.

Ages ago, she had almost drowned in an accident in this river. Imoen had pushed her in while she was wearing full metal plate and the weight of it had dragged her under. Rasaad had rescued her but she had become seriously ill as a result. As a present, the monk had brought her a charmed belt which inflated in water, to ensure that it never happened again. It had been such a sweet gesture that Arrow had not had the heart to tell him that she was a strong swimmer.

She dived in, and sure enough the safety-belt inflated. The ranger was suspended upside-down in the water with her legs waggling in the air. It took vigorous kicking, and writhing like a snake in order to right herself again. By the time she had, the current had swept her a distance downstream. She tried to paddle, but since the belt prevented her from moving to a horizontal position and swimming properly, this was not effective.

The current continued to tug her downstream as she made slow, paddling progress to the edge of the bank. Rasaad was pelting after her but he could not outrun the water and he was becoming increasingly distant. Then, to her astonishment, a familiar poisonous orange colour was staining the water around her. She looked over to the source at the river bank and blinked. A topless halfling was washing his thinning locks in the water. It was a gruesome sight. He was the only man she had ever seen whose nipples touched his knees, and there was hair sprouting from places where hair had no business being.

" _Montaron?"_ she gaped stupidly.

The halfling, who was rinsing orange louse potion out of his hair looked no less astonished. Arrow was, after all, newly bald and floating down the river in an inflatable ring. It was a bizarre scene.

"Arowan?" he spat in astonishment, "Get back here, I'm not through with ye yet, ye trigger-happy imbecile! EDWIN! XZAR!"

It sounded like Monty had picked up a new travelling companion. Great.

Before his new friend could join him, however, he was shoved out of the way and into the poisonous orange water by Rasaad. Arrow finally reached the bank and scrambled up, assisted by the monk. Much to his amused despair, she pulled Montaron out of the water. The halfling was coughing and spluttering but it seemed no amount of saving his life was going to make him forget the time she had shot him in the head.

"Right!" he growled, and drew his dagger to stab her, but as he lunged forward, he swayed alarmingly.

"Oh yeah. You're in for a rough time," said Arrow matter-of-factly. She had no idea where Montaron had acquired louse potion from, but she knew from bitter experience that it had some very unpleasant side effects when accidentally ingested.

"Monty!" squealed Xzar, running at them like a deranged ostrich. His own greasy brown hair was also doused in bright orange louse-killer. Behind him strode a tall Thayan wizard, presumably Edwin.

"Is Minsc with them? No? What about the witch?" Edwin demanded impatiently, adding under his breath, "How many times was that reeking midget told not to drink the potion? Smaller body, smaller head, smaller brain…"

Arrow's belt was deflating back to its normal size. She and Rasaad looked at each other, and together they shoved Montaron forcefully at the two wizards and sprinted back to their camp.

"Leave them!" Edwin demanded, as a magic missile from Xzar whizzed past their heads. "I only agreed to assist you in return for the Berserker I saw with them at the carnival. I've no interest in settling your personal vendettas!"

Arrow and Rasaad returned to camp to find the others laughing at the ranger's undignified tumble. Arrow quickly washed the louse potion from her trousers and tied her scarf back around her head as Rasaad told them what they had just seen. Khalid stopped laughing and looked serious.

"Zhents and a T- Thayan? That's not a g- good combination," he muttered.

"Guess you were right Viconia, we were being followed after all," sighed Xan. "We're all doomed."

"Doomed?" sneered Viconia in response, "We've already killed that pompous little pixie twice. You know what they say, third time's a charm. Maybe next time we squash the cockroach he will stay dead."

"You say Edwin was after Minsc?" said Jaheira. "I guess he saw him with us at the Nashkel Carnival and thinks we're all one massive party now. He must have done a trade with the Zhents. Curing their lice in exchange for their muscle. Well it won't do him much good. If his targets are still locked up in Baldur's Gate, he won't have an opportunity to catch them for a while."

"Well that's alright then," shrugged Arrow. "Sooner or later he'll cotton on that we don't have Minsc and go away. Maybe we should take watch in pairs tonight though. Just in case."

"Might we take first watch?" Rasaad suggested. He needed a word with Arowan, and this seemed as good a time as any.

They sat in silence for a while, as the others returned to their tents. They still only had two, but Jaheira was deigning to share space with Viconia again now that she had calmed down, so it shouldn't be too crowded. Rasaad was staring off into the distance. Arrow bit her lip and waited for him to speak. He didn't though, and for the first two hours of their shift they said nothing.

Rasaad had been dwelling on his brother's death, but more than that, the temptation he had felt in the Sharran temple. His older brother had been his hero and among the best of the younger generation of monks. If he had fallen into shadow so quickly, and for no apparent reason, then he himself must be much closer to the darkness than he had realised.

Perhaps that was even the reason they had come to the Sun Soul monastery in the first place. Maybe when that monk had caught them stealing, he had seen the latent wickedness lurking in the brothers' souls and sought to save them from it. Leaving the monastery wasn't an option after all. Not if it was all that stood between him and becoming like Gamaz. He had made his choice but telling Arrow would be difficult.

Still he had to get on with it. Xan and Viconia would be getting up to replace them any minute.

"Even in the light of my brother's death, I feel that the light of Selune has truly blessed me," Rasaad said. Arrow nodded slowly, though she was not sure she believed him. It was hard to see how losing one's only family could be considered a blessing. The monk did not elaborate. He seemed to be having trouble deciding what to say.

"Because the power of your goddess allowed you to defeat Gamaz?" she ventured.

"Even with everything I learnt at the monastery I would not have been able to defeat Gamaz and his Dark Moon monks without you," he said. Arrow scowled at this.

"Are you trying to be funny?" she said, "All I did was get captured, have my hair cut, then almost freeze to death."

"No!" Rasaad protested, "I meant that... The possibility of having my brother back was hard for me to resist. Or it would have been if not for you. Without you there, I am not sure I would have made the right choice."

Arrow squirmed guiltily. Gamaz's numbing potions, now buried deep in her bag, had planted seeds of doubt in her mind that they actually _did_ make the right choice. Still, so long as Rasaad had found peace with it, that at least, had to be a good thing.

"I do not believe you would have turned to Shar, Rasaad," she said sincerely.

"I do not share your confidence," he admitted. Had he never met Arrow, getting his brother back, along with a temple of his own and a stunning woman like Viconia by his side was not as wholly unappealing as he might wish. He hoped that he would have turned from Shar anyway, but he wasn't certain. "I lack your strength."

Arrow squinted and looked pointedly from her body to his. He had individual muscles that were almost as thick as her entire arm. Rasaad laughed.

"I was not referring to physical strength but strength of character," he explained. "I admire your moral conviction, and the way you help those who lack your power. You inspire me." The ranger sensed that he was going somewhere with this. Where, exactly she had no idea.

"Yeah, I have that effect on people," she grinned.

"Aha. I am even starting to appreciate your sense of humour," he said. "Only since meeting you have I realised that I can come across as a little… well…"

"…Stiff?" Arrow ventured as he trailed off.

"You are right. Ever since I thought my brother was murdered, I have found it difficult to relax. Is it wrong that his death has granted a sort of relief?" Arrow shook her head mutely, but solidified her conviction that Rasaad must never, ever find out about Gamaz's addiction to numbing potions. It would crush him. Something else seemed to be burdening him now. He turned to her and looked into her eyes sincerely.

"I... I made a mistake Arowan," he admitted heavily. "Before we went to the Cloud Peak mountains, I was ready to leave the monastery behind me and begin afresh. I see now that I was being lured away from the path of light. I had no idea how close I was to falling into shadow. Only by dedicating myself the path of Selune can I be confident of resisting Shar."

"I see," said Arrow resignedly.

"I will help you and Freya to defeat Sarevok," he said, "And then I will return to the Sun Soul."

This news came as no surprise to Arrow. Ever since the Dark Moon monks had mutilated her appearance, she had taken it as a given that Rasaad would lose interest. In a way it was a relief. She no longer needed to worry unduly about her hair. In another, more accurate way it was breaking her heart. Still, she would survive it, and the less she dwelt on it the sooner she would heal.

"Well," she said brusquely, "We'd better deal with him quickly then hadn't we? Look, Xan and Viconia are up. Let's get some sleep, I mean to be inside Candlekeep tomorrow."

"Arrow I-" Rasaad began, but Arrow cut him off.

"Hang on. Am I seeing things or are Xan and Viconia talking to a _chicken?_ "

In fact Xan and Viconia were laughing at a chicken. It had approached the camp, clucking and flustered. As they saw it coming the wizard and cleric had been debating between them whether impaling it on Viconia's flaming sword or incinerating it with a fireball would be the tastiest way to cook it.

"Well hello succulent one," Viconia had crooned to it, as it stopped at her feet. To their astonishment the chicken had answered her.

"Aaaaahhh!" Xan was screaming and pointing at the bird, as Viconia cracked up beside him, "Unholy magics are afoot! This chicken is possessed! This bird is FOUL!"

"If you are quite through with the thea- *cluck* -trics, my situation is quite grave!" huffed the chicken, puffing out his feathers.

"Might I first pose a query?" snickered Viconia, who was not through by a longshot. "Which came first, and what side of the road did you start on?" The chicken sighed.

"I apologise for these two my good, er, chicken," said Rasaad as he and Arrow hurried over. "What is the nature of your problem?"

"Thank the *cluck* Mother of all magic, maybe now I might end this nightmare," the chicken wailed. "I am Melicamp of Beregost, a mage adept in the mystical arts. A misread polymorph spell seems to be the *cluck* cause of my current predicament. I cannot return to my usual form."

"How long have you been like this?" frowned Arrow.

"Over a month," said the chicken sadly.

"Have either of you memorized Dispel Magic? Can you help him?" asked Arrow.

"Oh very well," sighed Viconia disappointedly, "If you are sure."

"Why wouldn't I be sure?" asked Arrow, puzzled.

"A rivvil male or an actual talking chicken? Does that even need an answer? Fine." The drow cleric reluctantly cast dispel magic over the unfortunate bird. Nothing happened except that the chicken squawked, clenched and plopped out a shiny white egg onto the ground.

"You've not been taking cock have you?" asked Xan innocently. Viconia snorted, but Arrow rounded on him and he held up his hands disarmingly. "Cock as-in cockerel," he explained, "And also cock as-in cock, I suppose. If the egg isn't fertilized, we can eat it. But if it is, we might be looking at a semi-sentient new species. It's kind of important."

"Bother and blast it didn't work!" moaned Melicamp, ignoring the wizard. "I fear that you have not the ability to release my enchantment. My only *cluck* recourse now is to find my master. Would you take me to Thalantyr in the tower a short journey North of here? He might help."

"Might?" asked Xan, who was rather enjoying Viconia laughing at his jokes in spite of himself. "Why would your master not want you back? Did you hen-peck him? Did you lay around the place? Did you ruffle his feathers?" Viconia, who was brought up to view others' suffering as entertainment, practically squealed with glee.

"Stop egging him on!" Arrow snapped at her. It was wrong but she couldn't resist it.

"You are all terrible people," said Melicamp. He waddled over to Rasaad, who thus far was the only one not mocking him. "Often the relationship between apprentice and master is… strained. He will help. I am certain."

"Stay in the tent with us tonight," said Rasaad, "We will decide this in the morning when the whole party is awake."

"There are more of you?" groaned the chicken, "Oh what joy…"

He picked up the chicken and took him into the men's tent where Melicamp made a makeshift sock-nest at the foot of the monk's bedroll. Arrow returned to her own tent and shuffled around in her sleeping bag to warm it up. She did not feel as bad about Rasaad as she might have done. It had been expected, the chicken had cheered her up and soon they would be able to part ways which would make things easier. She could still hear Xan and Viconia laughing as they took their watch. It sounded as if they were deciding whether or not to make a midnight snack out of Melicamp's egg. This grossed Arrow out, but at least if Viconia was distracted with Xan, she wouldn't have to watch her constantly hitting on Rasaad.

"No," said Jaheira when they presented her with the chicken's quest the next morning. "Absolutely not. We don't have time for this nonsense! What if the Iron Throne guards hurt Imoen while we're messing around with talking poultry?"

"Easier said than done if she is sharing a cell with a werewolf," pointed out Xan. "But Jaheira has a point, we should help our friend first, and solving the iron crisis has to take priority over one man… or chicken."

"I'll be eaten out here!" sobbed Melicamp.

"We can take you with us to Candlekeep and drop you off home on our way back," the druid offered fairly.

"You're going to Candlekeep?" asked the chicken.

"What of it?" asked Jaheira haughtily.

"How do you propose to get in?" asked Melicamp slyly. "As I understand it, the monks demand a rare book as the price of entry. Have you such a book?"

"When I lived there, I used to have a grappling hook hidden under an old elm tree that I used to get in and out after dark," said Arrow. "I expect it is still there."

"That might not be as simple as you think," warned Melicamp. "The walls of Candlekeep are protected by powerful anti-theft wards. Now that you no longer reside there you will set them off if you try to scale them, same as everybody else. Unless you use the front door you're risking winding up in a worse state than me. You need a book."

"A rare book," said Arrow dryly, "Yes… I think I see where this is going."

"My master has lots of them, so here is what I propose; take me to him and while you are there, you may purchase one of his books," Melicamp suggested. The party considered this. He had a point. There were many valuable tomes in the great library to tempt crooks, but as far as Arrow was aware there had never been a successful break in.

"Fine," said Jaheira. "You win."

"When you put your bid in to replace me as leader you boasted about your superior deal-making skills," chuckled Arrow, "And you've just been out-negotiated by a chicken. Just saying."


	21. The Black Pits Burn

"Don't hurt him, we're invading his home not the other way around!"

"For mercy's sake Arrow. It… is… a… vampire!" panted Jaheira hotly.

She was out of breath because said vampire was lunging for her neck with his fangs bared, and only her staff was holding him back. A string of drool ran down his chin in anticipation of making her his supper. They had found a treasure chest in what appeared to be an abandoned cave near the tower of Melicamp's master. There was nothing inside except a gruesome collection of human bones, but as soon as it was opened the undead owner had swooped down from the cave roof and attacked.

"Begone!" commanded Viconia, and her power to turn-undead sent it retreating back into the cave.

"Ok, now let's leave it alone," insisted Arrow. "It might have fledglings for all you know."

"Of course, of course," said Jaheira, steering Arrow out of the cave. She looked back over her shoulder and mouthed at Viconia, "Kill it."

The drow nodded and slipped deeper into the cave with Xan close behind. Rasaad went to follow but Khalid caught his eye, looked at the elves significantly and shook his head. Arrow noticed none of this. She was too busy talking to the ceiling on her way out of the cave.

"Hey Freya! If you're watching this, we are on our way to Candlekeep," said Arrow loudly. "But we have to get a rare book to give them first or they won't let us in." She had no reason to suppose that the werewolf would be asleep at this time of day, but she also had none to suppose she wasn't. In any case, she was trying to mention it after every fight, as Freya would be bound to be asleep for some of them. Wherever Eric was being held, the time difference was such that he was usually fighting in what, for them, was night. Freya's circadian rhythm was less predictable.

She did eventually notice that it was taking Xan and Viconia a while to vacate the cave. The wizard put up an impressive display against the vampire, confusing it with illusions before blasting it with a Flame Arrow. The vampire's cloak caught and went up in smoke, and it perished with a wail. Viconia had been insulting him all the while but when Xan turned away from the smouldering remains, he found the cleric looking at him as hungrily as the vampire had been. She stepped toward Xan and he caught her up in his arms, pressing his mouth over her own.

Viconia tilted her head and parted her lips, which Xan took as an invitation to let the tip of his tongue enter. Knowing that he was risking having it bitten off, or a dagger to the back, or another vampire swooping from the shadows and finishing them both while they were distracted only made him press against her more urgently. She shifted her leg curiously, and was satisfied to feel proof of his arousal pressing into her thigh. The gentle brush sent a shock of pleasure like an electric current through his body and he moaned into her mouth.

"We… we have to stop… mmmph… the others will get suspicious," he gasped as he came up for air, but he didn't really mean it.

"No they won't," teased Viconia. "It wouldn't even occur to them that I would stoop to kissing you."

Xan kissed her more aggressively, and she grabbed a handful of each of his sleeves. He pulled away and her red eyes flashed at him furiously, but then he bent his head down to brush his lips over her neck prompting her to moan. This was wrong on every level, but she was so beautiful and gods he wanted her…

They heard a shuffle of movement at the entrance to the cave and dropped each other immediately. Xan even shot off one last Flame Arrow to make it appear as if they were still battling. Then they stumbled out to where the others were waiting.

"Where is the vampire?" demanded Arrow fiercely. "You killed the poor thing anyway, didn't you?"

"Not exactly," sighed Xan dolefully. "It was unwise enough to try biting Viconia. Poor creature died of food poisoning after one good suck."

"You wouldn't know a good suck if it came up and bit you, ancient virgin!" the drow snapped back. They stormed out, leaving their companions snickering in the cave.

"Theirs is a strange acquaintance is it not?" Rasaad observed quietly.

"How so?" asked Jaheira with an amused expression.

"They appear to delight in each other's company, and yet they frequently throw petty insults at each other," the monk puzzled. "I cannot work out whether they are friends or enemies." The ranger and the two Harpers all cracked up as one. "I do not understand what you find so funny."

"Oh, it must be obvious when even Rasaad starts noticing!" laughed Arrow. "Ha!"

"Noticing? Noticing what?" Rasaad frowned.

"When Xan said there was sexual tension between you and Viconia," said Jaheira patiently, "He may have been projecting a little bit."

"Projecting a lot judging by his trousers," remarked Arrow. Her guardians stared at her with shocked disapproval. "Hey, this is what your 'lessons' do to easily influenced young minds Jaheira. All your talk about oral and pleasing women has corrupted my innocence."

"For a moment I thought I was following," sighed Rasaad, "But now I am lost again."

"Lucky you," said Arrow emphatically.

"His luck will run out soon, I trust?" Jaheira said to Khalid in a threatening whisper. Her husband swallowed nervously.

"Y- y- yes dear," he replied unhappily.

"Rasaad, _pluck_ the chicken out of your bag," said Arrow cheerfully, "We're almost there."

"I hate you," said Melicamp glumly, but he cheered up once they got to the wizard's tower and a cure seemed within reach.

Unfortunately the wizard was not best pleased to see his young apprentice, who had been less than forthright with them about how he came to be cursed. As it transpired, he had been stealing from his master, and could not be restored in any case without a human skull. Luckily the vampire had a chest full of them and Xan volunteered to go, suggesting that Viconia come with him to ward off any more undead. Jaheira seemed to feel that this would take too long and sent Rasaad alone instead.

"He is less likely to encounter… distractions," she said. Arrow had to stifle a giggle, but the druid's remark went completely over Xan and Viconia's heads.

Finally Rasaad returned with the skull, Melicamp was made human again and they came around to the subject of the requisite rare book. He led them to a locked alcove in the tower and there were a collection of leather-bound tomes. Most of them looked incredibly tedious. Arrow suggested that the reason they were so rare was because the scribes had died of boredom before they could make more copies. Thalantyr gave her a death-glare, then he named his price. It was outrageous.

"Seriously? You're not going to give me the book out of gratitude for rescuing your poor lost apprentice?" queried Arrow, "That's how these sorts of quests usually work!"

"Reward you?" Scoffed the temperamental wizard, "For burdening me once more with this useless lout? Double price! Triple because you don't see the value in this priceless 'History of Amnian Fishmongers Volume XII' and I don't trust you to care for it!"

"This, Arowan," said Jaheira with a bite of impatience, "Is why I handle the negotiations in this party and not you. Now be somewhere else before you make it worse!"

Yet in the end they left a chicken poorer and a rare book richer. They resumed their trek toward Arrow's former home and by nightfall Candlekeep was looming on the horizon.

"Shall we go tonight or wait until morning?" asked Jaheira.

"Morning," said Arrow, "If we go to the inn, someone might warn Rieltar and give him chance to slip away."

Deep down though, there was another reason she wanted to postpone. She had not thought too much about returning to Candlekeep but now that she was actually looking at it, she had a sense of dread that was bone deep. Only now did she fully appreciate how glad she was to have left the place. The monks with their thin tolerance, Gorion with his lies and secrets and the others… her fellow Candlekeep orphans whom her guardian's spells kept hidden from her. Their ghosts must haunt this place in the relics they left behind and the jumbled memories of the castle's occupants.

"Is something troubling you?" asked Rasaad, coming up behind her.

"No," said Arrow briefly. "We'd best start making camp."

As she busied herself helping Khalid with the tents, Rasaad gave her a pained look. Ever since he had expressed his intention of returning to the monastery, he'd had the distinct impression that she was avoiding him. Maybe it was for the best. Before long all this would be over, he would return to Calimport and things would go back to the way they were before. Only without Gamaz. He went to gather firewood as a means of distracting himself from this unhappy thought. By the time he returned Arrow had already eaten and retreated to the women's tent. Their camp directly overlooked Candlekeep and she did not want to see it any more than necessary.

That night, as she slept, she returned to Eric. Without the illithid to reveal her, he could not see her, though he must now realise that she was real and dreaming violent events from his life just as he dreamed hers.

"Tonight, fresh foes fleeced of their freedom will be flung into the furious fighting pit with Faerun's favourite Bhaalspawn, Eric, who will be…"

"…Flattening this fetid freak and my foolish fawning fans in a fiery, fulminating frenzy of forceful ferocity?" suggested Eric pleasantly.

There was a pause as Baeloth's brain caught up with his pointy ears. He gnashed his teeth and swelled with rage. There was a strange rustling, scampering noise from under the stands but the slave master and his audience were too preoccupied with Eric's audacity to care.

"You dare to threaten me?!" he shrieked. "Najim! Deal with this insubordinate imbecile!"

A flicker of fear passed over the genie's face. He knew perfectly well what Eric was capable of, and that the geas must be well and truly broken for the young human to challenge Baeloth directly like this. Yet, like Eric had once said to Bubbles, the genie was an expert at finding loopholes in the geas and he started to smirk. He floated over to the young necromancer.

"Very well I will deal with you," he spoke hastily. Baeloth was too far away to hear his words which were drowned out by the scampering noise. It was growing louder. Some of the patrons were starting to shuffle on their seats nervously. A few of the wiser ones were slinking out of the stands but most were too curious to see how this would play out. "My deal is this! See the slaves unharmed and let us go when you've finished with Baeloth. In return I will remove the anti-barrier surrounding the pit!"

Eric's grey-green eyes flickered, and his lip twitched in a half-smile. His hood was raised, but long tendrils of black hair were escaping out from under it. The genie peered at him closely. There was a thin film of cold sweat over his face and a slight tremble to his hands. He did not think it was nerves. Eric had weighed up the risks of fighting whilst drugged against battling with withdrawal, and decided to forgo the numbing potions for this particular fight. Najim hoped fervently that this was the right call.

"Deal," said Eric.

"Better mute Baeloth before he can give me any more specific orders," said the genie.

"On it," the necromancer replied confidently. There came a series of unearthly squeals and the click-click-clicking of a thousand tiny claws. The stands around the pits erupted.

Rats, dozens of them, burst from between the seams and swarmed the revolted patrons biting them and clambering up their clothes. They were in varying states of undeath, with some of the freshest ones seemingly killed that day. Others had so much rotten flesh slipping off their bones that it was clear that Eric had been killing and hoarding their tiny corpses for weeks. It made no difference, all were fast, and sharp and hungry for the living. There was nothing honourable about the necromancer's tactics in battle. When he fought, he fought to win, and soon the male members of the audience were screaming as razor teeth sliced into their genitals and refused to detach. Those who missed their first target scurried higher in search of nipples, eyes and the exposed tongues of the screamers. Anywhere sensitive to strike.

Eric focussed six of them on Baeloth to keep him distracted. Then he hurled a draining spell at a velvet clad half-orc who looked like he was accustomed to a life of luxury. The necromancer gasped in temporary ecstasy as the life force he had sucked from his plump victim flooded through him, undoing some of the discomfort that the lack of numbing potion was inflicting. It did not take much damage to kill nobles, and the orc died quickly, only to be instantly brought back by Eric. He turned the undead one against his neighbour, then charmed a young Rakshasa cub who was watching the fights with her father.

There were less rats now. Those of the audience who were not running were defending themselves. Most of the remainers had not witnessed Eric's recent performances, but they were starting to get a taste of how dirty the Bhaalspawn was prepared to fight. The charmed Rakshasa cub leapt between the stalls, conveniently protected by her father, plunging her mean little claws into the eyes of every patron she came to before moving on to the next target. Eric recognized a Thayan man stumbling about the stands with one eye dangling down his cheek and a red stain spreading through his trousers as though he'd wet himself with blood. It was one of his patrons. Former patrons. If he survived he would have no further use for the services of slaves. The necromancer smiled unpleasantly.

"Go for the eyes!" he commanded his remaining rats. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Eric was finding it quite satisfying to finally have a chance to use this strategy. He had first begun to appreciate the underutilized potential of battle-rodents when he was still living in Candlekeep. There were a few gold coins to be earned clearing the storehouses of rats, and he had noticed how the cats avoided them. Turned out they were vicious things with piercing, infectious bites. He could stand here and watch them attack the stands all day for entertainment, just like the audience had watched him, but he had other matters to attend to. He began chanting and preparing a Finger of Death for the bastard drow. 

Rats could only provide a temporary distraction, and Baeloth was a powerful sorcerer. He had rid himself of them before they could prove much more than a nuisance. Throwing caution to the winds, the slave-master vaulted the barrier and into the pit. Baeloth himself was descending on Eric, his eyes alight with malice and the spell was not yet complete. Once more, Arrow felt Eric's fear ripping through her heart. Yet before Baeloth could attack, he froze, face locked in an incensed expression. The Hooded Man was stalking up behind him, palm outstretched. It was as though he was projecting a giant invisible hand, crushing the drow and bringing him to his knees.

"Better late than never," sneered Eric.

"Silence," the Hooded Man commanded. "You are fortunate, Bhaalspawn, that I still need you in order to locate your sisters. You have intentionally rendered yourself useless to me with those numbing potions and I will not forget that!"

Again Arrow could sense Eric's overpowering terror. Or perhaps it was her own. Despite what the others had said, she had been wise to fear her brother. Clearly, as soon as he had realised that she and Freya were real, the necromancer had seized his opportunity and offered them to the Hooded Man in his place. Now he was going to lead him to them.

"Sorry sisters! Didn't have much choice!" Eric called loudly to the empty air above the pit. Without the illithid he could no longer actually see them, but it made no difference. He knew now that if they were asleep, they were there.

"Eric help me!" wailed Bubbles.

A rakshasa shopkeeper, one of Baeloth's henchmen, had a knife to her throat behind the bars. He motioned his intention to kill her should Eric fail to stand down.

"Oh no, I don't think so," Eric said grimly.

The tiger-like creature howled suddenly and let go of the courtesan. Shank and Carbos had finally made themselves useful. The zombies Eric had raised from those pathetic assassins who targeted him in Candlekeep ripped Bubbles and her assailant apart before bludgeoning the surprised shopkeeper to death with their fists.

"Thank you, Eric!" she wailed desperately, "I'm sorry for everything I said! Please, you'll free me like we planned? I'll do anything! I love you!"

"You don't need to beg me!" yelled Eric, over his shoulder, casting minor curses at the weaker audience members before raising them up to battle their peers. "Just take what you want from the body and hide somewhere until the fighting is done! Shank and Carbos will protect you!"

The fighting was almost over, but Baeloth was still paralysed on the floor of the pit. Eric smiled, an evil smile. His death spell was ready now and he advanced on his master who glared up at him wheezing.

"Now let's not be hasty," the drow wheedled, "We can make a deal. What would you like? Gold? Magical items? How about your Bubbles' freedom hmm?"

"All of the above," Eric said, and the drow forced a smile, "And your life too. Only first, Baeloth, I am going to hurt you. Remember that paladin whose guts I made dance over his head? In five minutes time you are going to _wish_ that you were that paladin, because you are about to have it so much worse."

Baeloth barely had time to wipe the smirk off his face before there was a flash of light and magical energy rushed toward him. Eric doubted it would be enough to slay the drow in one shot but it would incapacitate him for a few minutes and that was all he needed. It was time to settle the score, and Eric had spent a long time caged up alone to plan exactly how he was going to do it. The cowardly slave master squeezed his eyes shut and vanished.

"WHAT?!" howled Eric.

"I had to do that," said the genie, "He forced me to protect him from death long ago and… Don't you point that death-finger at me wizard! We had a deal, and contracts with genies are magically binding! I'm free now."

"Yes… yes… sorry," muttered Eric, "I was looking forward to killing him for a long time, that's all."

"Weren't we all," sighed Najim sympathetically, "But if it is any comfort he did not specify the manner in which I saved his life. I have transported him to the surface where his powers are much diminished and drow are not liked. I am sorry we were denied the pleasure of ending him ourselves, but rest assured, some warrior or other will oblige us."

"To the surface then!" demanded the Hooded Man. "It is a long voyage to Baldur's Gate. Let's not waste time."

"Hang on," said Eric, "I've some shopping to do first. There's a lot of equipment in those stalls and I mean to take the best of it."

"And why would I permit that?" asked the Hooded Man.

"I mean to survive, and that kit will help me do it. You don't imagine I'm going to sell you my sisters and then end up in the Abyss anyway," hissed Eric. The Hooded Man opened his mouth but the necromancer went on, "And don't bother with your threats. If we fight you'll win, but I'll die and then where will you be? My sisters will see it, they'll go into hiding and good luck finding them then!"

The Hooded Man's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You would have been perfect for my purposes Bhaalspawn," he said coldly, "Were it not for those numbing potions. They suppress your potential. You were foolish to take them."

Eric swept away, leaving him in the pit, and began down the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight he broke into a run.

"Najim! Najim!" he called under his breath. The genie materialized beside him.

"I can teleport us all, right now," said the genie urgently. "That man is even more dangerous than you are."

"No!" said Eric. He frantically tore apart the abandoned stalls until he found what he was looking for, a large stash of gold. He thrust it into the genie's arms, then pulled out protection charms and gloves, a pair of boots and a cloak all laden with defensive spells. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for, as if he had planned carefully exactly what to take, but he did not put them on. Finally he slipped his ring from his finger. The special one set with magical grey stones flecked with green that he had used in his fight against the gnolls. "You take these to Bubbles. Take her to the surface and take Shank and Carbos to protect her. Anywhere she likes, anywhere at all, but _not Baldur's Gate!_ You understand? Anywhere but Baldur's Gate!"

"Eric?" It was Bubbles. "I… I thought you'd turned completely evil. I thought you'd stopped caring. I really thought you meant it when you said you were going to kill me."

"Bubbles!" said Eric, cupping her face and speaking intensely. "We don't have much time but it is important that you understand this. I am completely evil, I did stop caring and… no don't shake your head, listen to me! I was going to kill you. But I'm so glad I didn't. I need you."

He picked the ring out of the pile of items he had told Najim to give to her. Gently he took the sobbing woman's hand and slipped it onto her finger. Barely perceptibly, the courtesan stiffened. Whatever change had taken place, it escaped the genie's notice but Bubbles stepped back from Eric, glaring at him with an expression of pure hatred.

"I just sold my own sisters to be tortured to save myself," said Eric honestly, "And I would do the same to you in a heartbeat. That's what I am. A Bhaalspawn. It is as important that you get away from me as it is that you escape Baeloth or the Hooded Man. Now flee with Najim before I take another numbing potion, change my mind and take all that treasure for myself." Bubble's took the genie's arm and vanished from the dream and Eric's life.

The necromancer scooped up a few items and meandered into the brothel corridor, shooing the remaining slaves in the direction of the genie, and casually murdering their clients as he went. In one room was a warrior his age, wearing the same insignia as the paladin he had killed before. When Eric cursed his client, he rose from his position on his knees and trod on the dead woman's neck just to make sure, but he eyed his rescuer with equal loathing. The necromancer guessed that this was a squire of the man he had slain in the pits. It seemed unlikely any paladin order would accept him now.

In the furthest room, the one Arrow had seen the Hooded Man torturing him in, he lifted a burning torch from the wall. Eric looked around the room with a twisted smile and pressed the fire into the stained old mattress. He went from room to room doing the same until the smoke became overpowering and he had to flee the inferno. The Hooded Man was waiting for him back in the pit looking unimpressed. Eric ignored him. The magical fire took hold and engulfed the rabbit-warren of tunnels, snaking its' way through the stands destroying rat and audience alike. The wizards would have to leave now, the smoke had nowhere to go and was tumbling toward them like a cloudy river of soot.

The last thing Arrow registered before she woke up was the young man laughing hysterically. Firelight reflected in his green-grey eyes as he watched the Black Pits burn.

The inside of the tent was very cool and quiet. Beside her Viconia and Jaheira were breathing softly. She stared upward at the canopy, wondering if Freya in her jail cell in Baldur's Gate had seen what she had just seen. Was she as afraid as she was?

She got up quietly and slipped out of the tent. Dawn was breaking over Candlekeep. Arowan watched it feeling alone and utterly trapped. No matter where she went they would find her. Any time she was attacked on the road, or present when a barfight started, Eric would dream her location. There was no hiding.

"Something is wrong," said Rasaad with certainty. "Please tell me?" He had wandered up behind her again. Arrow shook her head. There was no point in worrying him about it, when there was nothing he could do.

Now Arrow was glad that he had ended the romantic element of their relationship before it had really begun. He would be out of harm's way when Eric and the Hooded Man reached her. Hopefully on a ship halfway back to Calimport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do Rakshasa have fathers, cubs and/or genders? The D&D guides are very unclear, but in Baldur's Gate individual Rakshasa have been referred to by gender so I'm going with it.
> 
>  
> 
> Eric loves his battle rodents. I'm looking forward to introducing him to Minsc if I ever get as far as writing SoDr.


	22. Hull

Arrow chewed her breakfast slowly as a means of procrastination. Candlekeep awaited and she wanted to put off the moment she had to walk back through those gates for as long as possible. These past seasons on the road had hardly been a barrel of laughs at times, but the castle held far more sinister memories. She had come to view Gorion as more of a manipulative jailor than a benevolent guardian. The place reeked of him and her dead siblings.

"Are you alright?" Jaheira asked quietly, sitting down beside her, broth in hand. Arrow looked at the castle bleakly. She could endure it, for Imoen. All they had to do was go in, collect the evidence required to finish the Iron Throne, and sort out the mess in Baldur's Gate. Then she would be free of Gorion's legacy and could do whatever she liked.

"I think I will be," she said. "I have a job and a home waiting for me in the Cloud Peaks soon, once we've released Imoen and dealt with Eric. I'm looking forward to it."

"I don't mean to be indelicate but will Rasaad be accompanying you?" asked Jaheira.

"No," said Arrow heavily. "Rasaad will be returning to the monastery in Calimport." Jaheira's eyes filled with concern and pity. Arrow didn't like it. "It's ok, really. Lots of people split up every day and me and him were never really together in the first place. Trust me I'll be fine once he's gone. The sooner the better."

Jaheira's expression changed from pitying to one of pride.

"You are a remarkably resilient young woman," she told her. Arrow leaned sideways and allowed the druid to give her a friendly hug. She smiled. It would all work out ok in the end. "And you had to endure our little chat for nothing," Jaheira teased gently.

"That was unnecessary anyway! I bet if I were a man we would never have discussed it," Arrow grumbled resentfully. "You would never have had that conversation with Rasaad."

"Of course I wouldn't," replied Jaheira briskly.

"Hmph."

"Khalid is having that conversation with Rasaad!"

Arrow goggled at the druid. "Perhaps I should go and tell him his services are no longer required," Jaheira mused. "It would certainly come as a huge relief to him. He's been putting it off for ages, but I told him this morning that he needed to get on with it."

The two women looked at each other, each picturing Khalid trying to explain the birds and the bees to Rasaad. Before they knew it they had dissolved into a fit of gleeful giggling. Ilmater would want Arrow to save the monk from his fate, but where Rasaad was concerned she was not currently in a merciful mood. She would do some good deed by way of penitence later.

Meanwhile, a short distance from the camp, the monk was meditating on the sunrise. The air was full of the morning song of woodland birds and he listened to it peacefully, innocently unaware of the trial Selune had in store for him.

"H- h- hello?" ventured Khalid. The monk breathed in deeply and opened his eyes.

"Good morning," replied the monk, looking up at the warrior from his cross-legged position. "Selune smiled brightly upon us last night. We might have been in Calimport, the sky was so clear."

"Could we talk?" Khalid stammered awkwardly, wringing his hands. "If this is a b-bad time I could come back later."

For some reason he looked as if he desperately hoped it _was_ a bad time. The monk gestured to a rock opposite him and Khalid sat down, wearing an expression of profound apprehension. A rising stubble of orange hair was forming over his head from when the Dark Moon monks had shaved it. It put Rasaad in mind of a ginger hedgehog, and he tried not to look.

"How may I enlighten you?" asked the monk.

"W-w-well actually…" the poor man squirmed. "It is more of a… er… me advising you situation. Um…"

"Advise me? How?"

"It is a delicate matter," the half-elf wet his lips nervously. Rasaad waited patiently for his fellow Calishite to order his thoughts but after a very long pause he decided to reassure him.

"I welcome any advice from you my friend. Please. Speak."

Khalid was almost certain that the young man would not welcome this advice but Jaheira had been most insistent that they have this discussion. He had argued that since they were only Arrow's guardians and not Rasaad's, a discrete chat between the girl and his wife should adequately fulfil their parental responsibilities. This opinion had earned him an angry rebuke that not only was it misogynistic to place all the responsibility on the girl but also, when the girl in question was Arowan, extremely unwise.

She had demanded to know whether he really thought it likely that Arrow, reticent as she was when it came to talking about such matters, would want to bring up the subject of protection in the bedroom. Khalid had not thought about it. He did not wish to think about it, Arowan was practically his daughter. In the end he had capitulated and walked like a man marching to the gallows, into the woods after Rasaad.

"It is about Arrow."

"Arrow?" Rasaad asked surprised. "Tell me, have I offended her in some way?"

"No, no… nothing like that." Khalid was blushing so hard now that even his hands were turning red. "It's just that we've noticed that y-you two have become very close recently and what with Arrow being raised by monks and you b-being one…"

He paused hoping that the penny would drop and he would not have to finish his sentence. The other man blinked at him with a politely puzzled expression.

"As her guardians it is our responsibility to m-make sure she is safe. Using p-p-protection."

Rasaad gazed back at him, innocent and clueless. "It is my honour to protect Arrow," he said. Khalid cringed.

"Has anyone ever had the s-s-sex talk with you?" Khalid asked finally. Rasaad stared at him blankly.

"I am certainly aware of the mechanics of intimate relationships, but what does that have to do with Arro… oh." Now it was Rasaad's turn to flush. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding," he said hurriedly. "Arowan and I are good friends. Nothing more."

"I remember a time when Jaheira and I were g- good friends. Nothing more." Khalid remarked astutely. Rasaad fidgeted awkwardly. Unlike Arrow and Imoen who regularly displayed childish traits, Rasaad was so calm and mature for his age that it was sometimes easy to forget that he was barely out of his teens. He did not look calm now though.

After a silence that seemed to go on forever, Khalid pulled a blue potion from his pack and placed it on the grass between them.

"Th- three d- d- drops will prevent unwanted p- pregnancy," he stammered.

"Thank you, but I really don't need-" Rasaad insisted.

Khalid sighed and hardened his heart. It was cruel but it had to be done.

"Would you rather have this conversation with my wife?" Khalid threatened sternly. Rasaad froze, wide eyed like a cornered bunny rabbit. "Because that _is_ what w-will happen if I have to go back to Jaheira and tell her that you refused the contraceptive."

"No!" Rasaad exclaimed hastily. "No need for that!" He seized the potion and stuffed it deep into the bottom of his pack. Khalid sighed weakly.

"Th- thank the gods that's over! No wait. I mean," Khalid corrected himself, realizing he was going off-script, "I-if you ever wish to discuss these matters man to man…"

"Understood!" Rasaad said in a timid voice, quite unlike his own. "You may tell Jaheira that I have taken possession of her potion and that you have made yourself available to discuss these matters with me. But if we were to never, ever, ever do that… she wouldn't need to know… right?"

"Agreed," said Khalid, sagging with relief.

Back at the camp Xan was gazing gloomily at the castle, brooding on what horrors awaited them within, when a heavy blue brick bounced off of his chest, winding him. He glared furiously at the heavy object in his lap. Or rather objects. They were books. A beautiful leather-bound pair of books tied together in black ribbon. Picked out in gold-leaf on the spines and covers were the titles; _"History of the Drow"_ volumes I and II.

He looked from the books to Viconia and back again, stunned. They were exquisite quality, hand transcribed, none of this gnomish printing press tat. The bindings were soft and supple and the first page of each chapter were in full illuminated manuscript. They must have cost her all of her share of the gold. The book they had purchased to give to the Candlekeep doorman had been the most economical tome that Melicamp's master was selling, and even that had not been cheap.

"A biased account constructed by surfacers, but an adequate starting point to relieve some of your woeful ignorance," Viconia said haughtily.

"Thank you Viconia," he said quietly, ignoring the insult. The drow snarled in disgust at him and strode away to help Arrow and Jaheira pack up the tents. Xan wrapped the books carefully in his spare robes and stowed them into his own pack. Khalid and Rasaad were returning. For some reason both men were very red in the face. Xan cocked his head to one side. Clearly this was nothing like what it looked like, but he entertained himself for a moment imagining how Arrow and Jaheira would react if it were.

They handed over the History of Amnian Fishmongers to the guard at the drawbridge as payment for their entry. He called Arrow "Afoxe" then stared at her with a puzzled frown and she knew why. For years Gorion's memory magic had convinced everyone that all the Candlekeep Bhaalspawn were one person. Now the spell was broken and the guard was having to reconcile confusing memories with the woman in front of him. In the end he just waved them in, seemingly pleased to see them go.

"It's you! You're here!" cried a guard. The party looked around and saw an armoured man running toward them across the courtyard, clanging and scattering chickens as he went. He had long, brown hair tied in a half ponytail under his helmet. Little strands had come lose and were hanging in a cute way around his face. Arrow felt an uncomfortable, familiar flutter in the pit of her stomach.

"Hi Hull," she squeaked. She had forgotten that her former crush would be here. A little flush started to creep over her cheeks and she found herself wishing once more that the Dark Moon monks had not shaved her hair off.

A horrible cold feeling was creeping through Rasaad from the inside out. Imoen had told them all once about how much Arrow liked Hull, and it had not bothered him at the time, but this was different. He adored the way she turned pink in a line that followed her freckles across her nose, but until now he had not noticed that he'd only ever seen her blush for him. She was looking at her feet shyly now, as Hull spoke to her, and he didn't like it at all.

"Freya! I'm so glad you're here," the guard said. Arrow flinched. The last time they'd met, Gorion's spell had still been in full effect, making everyone believe that all his wards were one person. Of course the one Hull remembered would be the beautiful, heroic Freya and not her.

"Right," she said stiffly. "Well, nice to see you again Hull. Must be off." The fleeting memory of her feelings had been strong, but now that she came to get a good look at him he seemed less attractive than she remembered. His face was sort of lopsided and he certainly didn't have the musculature of some of the warriors she had met since.

"No, please hear me out" said Hull earnestly.

Arrow sighed. If he was about to hold her hand while he made a final declaration of undying love to Freya, she would have to seriously consider flinging herself from one of the turrets. A few of the other guards and peasants were looking at them curiously as the chickens returned to their pecking. Some of the people were muttering and pointing at Viconia. Xan moved between them and the drow protectively, with a warning scowl. Jaheira frowned warily. This was the sort of attention she had been hoping to avoid.

"You always made it clear that you liked girls and I should have respected that. I'm sorry," Hull said.

"That's ok I… er… huh?" the ranger frowned, cocking her head to one side.

"I was immature and a bad friend to you," he sighed. "I should have been there for you, not kept asking you to go out with me. When we found your Dad's body, I was afraid that you'd died too, and I've been feeling awful about it ever since."

"Guess Freya won't be competing with you for male attention after all," Xan whispered to Viconia. The drow rolled her red eyes impatiently. She wanted to get out of the courtyard and somewhere under cover. The eyes of the rivvil were all over her and she was feeling edgy.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arrow said blankly.

"I can understand if you don't accept my apology," he said, "But I'm offering it anyway. I was young and dumb and I... yeah. I should never have tried to hit on you. I'm sorry."

"Are you saying you think that I'm- OUCH!" yelled Arrow. Jaheira had pinched the back of her arm, hard. Arrow glared at her furiously. "What in the nine hells is happening here?"

"Shame on you young man!" Jaheira chided Hull sternly. "Do you have any idea how the way she was treated here has affected her?"

"I… I'm sorry!" stammered Hull.

"What in the name of Ilmater are you- Quit that!" Arrow began but broke off as Jaheira pinched her again.

"Nightmares! Crying! Self-mutilation!" cried Jaheira, gesturing to Arrow's head.

"I had no idea Freya," Hull pleaded, "You always seemed so confident! At least, after Gorion made you read all those self-help books."

Arrow shook her head in utter confusion, opening and closing her mouth like a guppy. She looked at Khalid for answers, then Xan and finally Rasaad, but all three men were staring determinedly at their shoes. Viconia, despite how exposed her situation was, was starting to smile. She leaned forward and put her lips to Xan's pointy ear, sending a shiver down him.

"I don't think she knows two women can have sex," she whispered. Xan suppressed a snort, glanced sideways at the ranger and turned his head to whisper back.

"To be fair, I'm not convinced she knew a man and a woman could have sex either until the druid spelt it out for her," he joked. Viconia's shoulders shook silently.

He smiled to himself. Since his term of imprisonment with Mulahey in the Nashkel mines he had been constantly frightened and miserable but somehow, she made him feel himself again. He wondered if she would be surprised if she could see what he was like before. An energetic, overconfident heir to a moonblade, eagerly volunteering for his first mission outside of Evereska. He'd had his share of female attention then but there was nobody in his life like Viconia. Not someone he enjoyed sharing a book with as much as he'd enjoy sharing a bed. Well… almost as much anyway.

"If there's anything I can do to make it up to you?" Hull begged them, "Anything at all?"

Arrow and Jaheira looked at each other slyly, and grinned. The Ilmatari had not followed much of this conversation but it had ended up somewhere useful just the same. They had a Candlekeep insider to help them, an insider with a helpful looking bunch of iron keys jingling at his waist.

"We came looking for the leaders of the Iron Throne," said Jaheira, "We think they were involved in Gorion's death and the iron crisis too. Where are they?"

"I don't know exactly," Hull said. "Somewhere in the main keep. There's a man who came with them though. Koveras was the name he gave us, but I heard the woman he's with calling him Sarevok. Him and his girlfriend are staying at Winthrope's. Poor sod, she's mad as hell with him about something!"

"Can you let us in the back way?" asked Jaheira "I want to hear what he's saying but I don't want Arrow recognized and greeted so he knows we're coming."

"Sure," said Hull. "Come with me."

They followed him behind the Candlekeep Inn and Hull unlocked the servant's entrance, motioning to a surprised laundry-man to keep quiet. The party waited in the kitchen as a worried looking black-haired woman and a group of hungover nobles wobbled their way up the stairs while Hull waited outside.

"What was he talking about?" asked Rasaad. "I didn't follow that at all."

"Freya would find me more sexually attractive than you," Viconia explained bluntly. "And really, who could blame her?" Xan and Rasaad nodded. It was a fair assessment.

"I have spent enough time on the streets of Calimport to be aware that two men sometimes embarked upon romantic relationships," the monk remarked with a shrug. "Sometimes in the monastery too, although we tended to turn a blind eye since there was no risk of unwanted children. I suppose it makes sense that women might do the same, though in truth it had not occurred to me."

"Oh, sweet moon monk," Viconia grinned, "I bet it would take me years to describe all of the things that have not occurred to you."

"How would it work?" Arrow puzzled curiously. "Two women?"

"Perhaps you also need instruction in such matters," said Viconia, "We will talk later you and I. In private."

Rasaad almost broke out into a literal sweat as thoughts involving Arrow and Viconia in private which would never have occurred to him before, took up residence in his imagination and refused to be dislodged.

"I've endured one of these instructive chats already from Jaheira," said Arrow dryly, "You don't scare me Viconia."

"Shush you two!" hissed Jaheira, repressively. "Come on, the coast is clear!"

They crept up the stairs to the landing where the rooms were. The noble guests had gone back to bed, but the worried woman was holding a conversation with a man in one of the rooms. They could see her booted calf poking out of the door. Jaheira motioned them all to be quiet and they strained to listen to them.

"Freya is here?" Sarevok yelped in alarm.

"No, it's worse!" she vented urgently. "It isn't Freya. There's another one! A ranger called Arowan with her adventuring party."

Sarevok replied in a deeply patronizing tone of voice. "So what you ran here to tell me Tamoko, is that a common ranger is skulking around here somewhere, but that the six-foot-two magically-engineered werewolf is still safely locked up in headquarters awaiting my return to Baldur's Gate?"

"Well... yes," she admitted.

"Then why is this worse? Explain your reasoning to me," he sneered.

"Because there are more than two of them!" she burst out. "Don't you see? It's not just Freya and that paladin Bhaalspawn Afoxe, the one you killed months ago! How many more of them do you think Gorion kept here? There could be a hundred Freyas prowling about the Sword Coast for all we know!"

There was a pause while Sarevok seemed to consider this. "No," he said eventually.

"No? How do you know?" Tamoko hissed.

"Well firstly, Candlekeep wasn't nearly big enough to house a hundred Bhaalspawn. Secondly even if it did they wouldn't all be like Freya," he said calmly. "The tomes Gorion stole for her from the library are rarer than drow-metal in daylight."

"He might have had the others read them too," she argued staunchly.

"They can only be read once, then the magic is lost," snapped Sarevok impatiently, "Otherwise I'd be back up in his tower right now reading them myself, not standing here wasting my time with you! Anyway the letter in Gorion's study only mentioned Freya. This Arowan is most likely nothing but an ordinary little girl!"

Tamoko sighed, and even without seeing her face her despair was audible.

"Still her presence here might come in handy," Sarevok mused slowly. "My so-called 'father,' Rieltar, is here. I was going to kill him myself but that would cause... politics. Whereas if it were known that 'Gorion's Ward' killed Rieltar, that will draw the other Dukes' suspicion from me and give me a cast-iron excuse to murder Freya."

"More schemes?" Tamoko asked wearily. She stepped the rest of the way into the room and shut the door. How exactly Sarevok intended to set her up for Rieltar's murder was not Arrow's main concern though. She was already taking the steps two at a time, heading back to the Inn's rear exit and Hull.

"Wait, Arowan, where are you going?" asked Rasaad, catching her arm.

"Gorion's apartments," she said. "I want to know what was in that letter they were talking about."

"Don't be foolish!" scolded Jaheira. "This Sarevok intends to frame you for the murder of Rieltar. Do you know who he is? A Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate! That's serious! Even if you got away now you would be hunted for the rest of your life."

"What do you suggest we do?" demanded Arrow, "Break down the door and murder Sarevok right here in Winthrope's Inn? Look, whatever was in that tower Sarevok thought it was worth finding."

In the absence of any better plan, Jaheira agreed. There was no point trying to catch the leaders of the Iron Throne off-guard anyway since their presence had already been noted. They could take as long as they liked. They entered the main keep and Arrow led the way up the winding stone staircases to Gorion's suite of apartments.

"So this is where you grew up?" asked Rasaad as they stepped over the threshold. No fires had been lit for a long time now and the air seemed colder in here than it was outside.

"This is it," replied Arrow unsteadily. They ascended the last narrow staircase leading to Gorion's suite of rooms. Her boots echoed on the stone and as she reached out for the familiar oak door she found her hand was trembling. It refused to budge. Though it had always been propped open when Arrow lived there, now it was locked. The dust around the doorknob had been recently disturbed and a broken lockpick lay discarded on the floor. They did not need to resort to that however, which was lucky since the party had no thief. Hull opened the door with his own set of keys and swung it back, staring dumbly at Arrow's headscarf. She wished he would stop.

" _Get a grip,"_ she told herself and pushed open the door. There was the living room where Gorion used to cook her meals over a small stove. Such _large_ meals now she came to think about it. Far too much for the two of them and Imoen, yet it was always finished by the end of the evening. This room was once comfortable but now it was showing the signs of decay and neglect. A thin layer of dust greyed over all the furniture, mould was creeping over the ceiling and there was a dank, stale scent which suggested that the windows had not been opened for some time. The room looked huge now, but in her memories there was never enough room. It was a cramped, claustrophobic space she'd always avoided.

There were six doors. She was sure there never used to be. Just the three that led to her, Gorion and Imoen's rooms. She opened the one to her own first. The rest of the party held back with Hull outside the door. It felt as though they were intruding upon a private moment. Inside there were three beds, and though Gorion's memory spells prevented her from remembering the other two occupants, she knew that one of them was a human girl named Draxle. That must be her bunk in the corner. The window bed was her own (the window itself still bore the scars from repeated assaults with her grappling hook) and the third was small, it looked like it belonged to a halfling or a dwarf.

She had seen Draxle from time to time in her dreams and Imoen had told her things too. She was a sword and shield girl, a party-loving warrior who was partial to knights in shining armour. Apparently, she had been one of Gorion's 'little princesses' along with her still-living sister, Freya. When Sarevok attacked she was one of the ones who ran like Gorion told her to, but it did her no good. She ended up ripped to shreds by gnolls anyway.

It was also Draxle who had insisted that Gorion stop ignoring Imoen's birthday. Though she had never really known her sister, this thought made Arrow sad.

"I brought you your boots back," murmured Arrow lamely, fishing them from her pack and placing them at the foot of her bed. It was a hollow gesture, but since she had been unable to bring herself to either wear them or throw them away, it was as good a place as any to leave them. Unsurprisingly there was nothing of interest in the drawers and cupboards. The Candlekeep orphans had known they would not be coming back and had taken everything with them that was useful or important.

She stepped back into the living room and opened the remaining doors. Imoen's room turned out to be shared too, and a quick rummage suggested that this was where Freya also slept when it was not full moon. Golden blonde hairs were clinging to an abandoned comb, an illustrated guide to dual wielding sat on the bedside table and despite this being a girls' room there were several sketches of semi-naked women shoved under one of the pillows. The neighbouring room was a very spartan two-man berth which had been completely emptied. Presumably that one had once belonged to the Selunite monks Gorion summoned to teach the werewolf to control her transformations.

It seemed that the only occupants of the tower who did not unwittingly share bedrooms were Eric and Gorion himself. The necromancer's former room was so tiny, Arrow guessed that it had once been a cupboard. There was a single bed crammed next to a desk that he would have had to climb over to get to sleep. All of the boy's clothes had been shoved unceremoniously in a screwed up pile at the foot of his bed. This was because his shelves, which ran all the way up to the high ceiling, were crammed with books. It was almost a library within a library. If Gorion's reason for granting him his own space had been to facilitate his studies, then Eric had certainly made the most of the opportunity.

Scattered over the desk were opened books with notes scribbled in the margins and rolls of scrolls covered in black spiky handwriting. Whatever Gorion had found in here that prompted him to throw Eric out could not have been Shank and Carbos. There would simply not have been space, so it must be something in these scrolls. She hurried back into the lounge and stuck her head around the door.

"Xan?" she whispered, "Please could you take a look at these scrolls for me?"

"While you're doing that," said Jaheira, "We're going to see if we can find where this Rieltar is at. Hull will stay to guard the door. Don't go anywhere else."

The elf, who had been talking in a low voice with Viconia, looked up curiously and followed her to Eric's room. He asked Arrow which scroll she wanted him to look at but for some odd reason Arrow was reluctant to be specific. She just asked him to skim read them and tell her if he found anything interesting.

As he reached to the desk to pick up a scroll there was an unearthly squeal. His hand shot back and out from under a pile of papers scuttled a tiny white mouse. Only not white fur. White bone.

"Is that rodent undead?" frowned Xan. It was a rhetorical question. The former-vermin scurried on clicky white claws to the edge of the desk, swiping at them with mini-paws and staring through empty eye sockets.

"I think it's kind of cute," laughed Arrow picking it up by its long spine of a tail. "Hey! Quit trying to bite me, you weird zombie mouse."

She placed Eric's experiment back down on the desk and left Xan to it. It seemed strange that the monks had locked up these apartments instead of cleaning them out, and she wondered if Eric's leftover handiwork might have been part of the reason. That, or as the hub of Gorion's memory spells, they had simply found it too confusing to be in here. Imoen had told her they could give people headaches.

Gorion's study was much the same as Eric's room. What there was of interest was in book form. Arrow eyed the papers apprehensively. There was a half-written letter on his desk, along with a fossilized apple core. She reached out and brushed the apple aside but it disintegrated over her hand, smelling like city garbage. The handwriting in this letter was hasty, the tone angry and it looked as though it had been abandoned halfway through.

"Dear E-luh-mi-steer," she frowned, mouthing the words. "I cannot agree with you that we have been overly shell-tur-ing of those in my care up until this point. If I did not know better I would inteep… inturp… interpret (interpret!) your words as (oh no…) crit-is-zizzing… criticising the uncle… uncon… SOD IT!"

Arrow screwed the piece of paper up and threw it at the wall in frustration. It bounced off and rolled neatly back to her. There was a polite cough behind her. She turned to the door, her face going scarlet. Xan was watching her, his expression unreadable.

"May I?" he asked.

Feeling angry and stupid, Arrow handed him the ball of paper. He uncrumpled it, coughed and began to read aloud.

" _'Dear Elminster,_

_I cannot agree with you that we have been overly sheltering of those in my care up until this point. If I did not know better, I would interpret your words as criticising the unconventional steps I have taken to protect them. You may wish to remain neutral in this matter, but I cannot. For me this is not a matter of conscience but one of family. I have raised these children from toddlers and babies, and as I'm sure you are aware there have already been multiple fatalities. You have no concept of what they are up against in addition to their heritage!'_ Ah. Er…" Xan trailed off and looked up with a guilty expression. "The letter continues in this vein. It was written in a hurry, not much sense in it. Are there any other documents you would like me to…?"

"Read it," said Arrow dangerously.

"I don't think it's relevant," he said awkwardly.

"Read it, or I will," she said. "I'll get there in the end, it'll just take longer."

"Alright Arrow, if you insist: 'T _hey have had little time to train beyond the very basics of their specialties, and despite my best efforts two of them are barely even literate,'_ " Xan read on apologetically. " _If they had any idea the danger they were facing I am sure they would work at it harder, though at least the half-orc has an excuse."_

To Xan's alarm, Arrow kicked Gorion's chair so hard that it hit the opposite wall and splintered. Xan wished he had brought another member of the party, or even Hull with him. This was deeply out of character coming from the Ilmatari girl. He had seen her freely forgive, and even pay to revive, people who had tried to murder her with no more than a sarcastic comment. Then again, he had never seen her attempting to read anything longer than a pub menu. It was a bit unnerving how angry it was making her. Since the letter made no further mention of her though, he thought the best distraction would be to read on.

" _Another is a bitten werewolf whose mating preferences will, not to put too fine a point on it, render the possibility of her acceptance into any established pack highly improbable. I know you do not approve of my decision to remove those tomes for her from the library vaults, but I do not consider it giving one Bhaalspawn an unfair advantage over the others. When you take into account that she will be fighting constant bigotry on multiple fronts, all I really did was level the playing field! If anything I am restoring the balance."_

"That's all?"

"That's all," confirmed Xan, relieved that the ranger had calmed down. "Do you suppose he meant magical tomes?"

"Magical enhancers? Probably. It makes sense," shrugged Arrow. "Freya's so powerful she didn't seem to think twice about attacking the Iron Throne head on. She isn't the least bit scared of Eric and she was tearing up that gnoll keep almost single-handed. She is ridiculously strong, even for a werewolf."

"Did Gorion give any tomes like that to you?" he asked tentatively.

"Does it look like it?" snapped Arrow. Xan held up his hands placatingly and she felt a bit mean. "Sorry. Maybe he thought I wouldn't be able to read them. Or maybe he decided I wasn't worth bothering with, just like Imoen."

"It sounded to me more like he thought she needed extra help to cope with the stigma of being a werewolf," said Xan reasonably. Arrow shrugged. She didn't really care what Gorion thought, but reading had always been a sore point. "We should search the rooms in case there are any left. There's a lot to read in here. I could use some help."

Arrow smirked. "I don't suppose you'd like to go and fetch Viconia by any chance?" she teased good-naturedly.

"You know, don't you?" he asked resignedly. "About me and… and her?"

"Everybody knows," she grinned, shaking her head at him.

"I don't want her up here for that! Well, ok, maybe I do," he sighed as Arrow raised an eyebrow. "But I actually really do need some help reading through all this if we want it done before midnight. I'll be back soon."

She listened to the wizard's footsteps fade. Now she was all alone in the apartments except for Eric's rat. She glanced at some of Gorion's other letters. They mostly seemed to concern academic matters and the enormous logistical challenge of organizing tutors for a dozen children. As she sifted through them, there was one that caught her eye. It looked different to the others. The handwriting was different from Gorion's. Shaky and misspelled like that of a child, and though there were few words it was splattered with water stains, like someone had been crying over it.

"' _Dear Daddy,_

_Why do you hate me and treat me different from the others? I drew a picture of us'-_ oh gods."

Arrow sat down heavily on Gorion's bed, her hand over her mouth. Imoen had drawn Gorion a picture of them. All of them, as one big family, the way Imoen had always seen it. She was in the middle holding hands with Gorion, a crude smiley face under her pink hair. And there were all the rest of them. She couldn't tell exactly who was who. Imoen had drawn this when they were all children. The kid with the tusks, presumably, was Thorg. The blonde girl holding Imoen's hand must be Freya, her best friend. There she was! She recognized her own freckles.

Someone had cried over this letter once. Whether that someone had been Imoen or Gorion, Arrow could not say, but the Harper had kept it close to hand for all those years. It must have meant _something_ to him. So why was he so unkind to Imoen? The ranger traced her finger over the picture feeling a lump rise in her throat.

_Thump. Thump._ Footsteps were approaching. Slow heavy footsteps. Arrow stiffened. Her first thought was Sarevok or Rieltar, but that seemed unlikely. Jaheira and the others had gone specifically to find them. The footsteps stopped at the doorway. There was an unnatural chill in the air. A shadow fell over Imoen's drawing and inexplicably Arrow felt a deep sense of dread.

"Xan?" she asked in a dry voice, but she knew it wasn't Xan.

"I came to thank you," a woman replied, "For returning my boots."

Arrow turned and screamed so loudly they must have heard her in the kitchens. Standing in the doorway was a slim girl with dark skin and the pointed features of a half-elf. Although she had only seen her a few times in dreams, the last one when she was bitten to death by angry gnolls, she recognized her instantly.

"Draxle?" she asked incredulously, "I thought you were dead!"

"Another of Gorion's tricks," said the girl. "Touch me, I'm as alive as you are."

Despite being 'barely literate,' as Gorion would put it, Arowan was no fool. Not only had she seen Draxle die, but in a later vision of Freya storming the gnoll keep, she had also seen her remains. Her instincts were insisting that something was very wrong here, and instead of reaching for the girl she reached for a fire arrow. Draxle hissed like an angry snake and withdrew from the room. Arrow followed her, weapon ready. She'd meant to bolt for the exit but the way out was blocked by more people. Gorion's other wards.

"What wrong?" grunted a second voice. It was the half-orc that Arrow had seen sliced in two by a trapped treasure chest. "We your brothers and sistersss. Why you not pleased to see usss?"

"You're not Thorg!" yelled Arrow. "Thorg is dead! So is Draxle! HULL!"

"Hull had to go," chipped in a tall, muscular young man with curly black hair. Arrow had never seen him before but from Imoen's description she assumed that he must be Afoxe.

Arrow pulled back her bowstring but a small child ran up to her and stood in front of the arrow tip.

"Please don't hurt us!" he cried. Arrow gaped in horror. This little boy had died in an accident in one of her earliest memories, kicked in the head by a horse. "I just want Daddy. Where is he? Have you seen him?"

The others were closing in on her in a semi-circle. She knew she was in terrible danger but she could not bring herself to fire. What if it really was a child? Maybe some of the servants had been possessed and their appearances transformed. She couldn't risk it.

"Yesss where's Gorion, Arrow?" asked Afoxe accusingly, "Where is our father? I died trying to save him, but you let them murder him. You don't care at all do you?"

"Get away from me!" screamed Arrow, and fled the only way she could go, through the door behind her and up to the last, highest room in the tower.

She pelted up the spiral stairs four at a time. They were behind her but she was faster. At the top was an open door to a small room. She slammed it behind her, with difficulty because it was very heavy, and bolted it shut. It was then that she noticed how many bolts there were, lining the doorframe from top to bottom. The door itself was made of reinforced iron. In fact metal bands had been bolted into the stonework at regular intervals and crisscrossed the tower room's one small window.

There was a mattress squashed against the wall which had been torn to shreds. A pile of heavily gnawed cow bones had been swept to the foot of it. On the pillow was a teddy bear but it was no ordinary soft toy. It was made of thick leather stuffed with more of the same. Deep grooves pockmarked its belly from aggressive chewing. This must be where Gorion kept Freya at full moon.

Arrow had no time to feel sorry for her sister though, nor to wonder how the lycanthrope would be feeling if she were watching this right now. The creatures, whatever they were, had reached the door and were trying to pound it down.

"Sssstupid meat! Thsssssss!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Stats:
> 
> Arowan: Strength: 13, Dexterity: 12, Constitution: 18, Wisdom: 17, Intelligence: 10, Charisma: 8. (Total: 78)  
> Eric: Strength: 9, Dexterity: 9, Constitution: 10, Wisdom: 16, Intelligence: 20, Charisma: 16 (Total: 80)  
> Freya: Strength: 19, Dexterity: 18, Constitution: 17, Wisdom: 7, Intelligence: 11, Charisma: 21 (Total: 93)
> 
> Gorion meant for Freya to read tomes of Wisdom and Intelligence too, but Eric stole and drained them first. As it is she still has all the common sense of a labrador puppy.


	23. Candlekeep

"Let us in fleshling! Let usssss in!"

Arrow cursed under her breath. There was no way that the creatures could break in, for all their frantic pounding and scrambling. This tower room was designed to constrain a fully-grown werewolf. However, while they couldn't get in, there was also no way that she could get out. Sooner or later she would have to open the door and fight her way through them. If only she had a potion of explosions or an arrow of detonation handy this would be a piece of cake. As it was, she was in serious trouble.

Suddenly one of the creatures let out a piercing wail. There was a sound of fists colliding with flesh and a Calishite man calling her name. Rasaad! She hastily unbolted the door, bow at the ready, but there were a lot of locks and in her panic she had latched them all. Her fingers slipped them open one by one, releasing each with a small clang of metal. With a great heave she wrenched back the door in time to see him wrestling the last of the creatures. It had stopped pretending to be Afoxe and resumed its natural form; a faceless, featureless humanoid of purple-grey. She fired into its arm and it hissed and ran away down the corridor.

"What was that?" she cried shakily.

The monk climbed the remaining stairs toward her, his face calm under the swirling tattoos. Sunlight was streaming in through the single tower window and reflecting from his muscles and the top of his shaved head. Rasaad would often preach to them about the beauty of reflected light but she had never appreciated it more than now.

"That was a doppelganger," panted Rasaad. "They are shapeshifters that take on the faces and forms of others, but what they are doing here in Candlekeep I cannot say. Are you alright?"

"Yes I'm fine," she said. "Where is Hull?"

"Forgive me, but I was not in time to save Hull," he said earnestly, his brown eyes finding hers. "Though from what I saw, his body is not so badly damaged. We can take him to a temple for revival, but there is something important I must tell you first."

"What is it?" she frowned.

"I love you," he said simply.

That came out of nowhere. Arrow's eyes widened, and her head began to swim. She stood a few steps above him in the spiral stairwell frozen, not sure how to respond. Only the night before last, he had announced his intention to return to Calimport. Had her brush with death changed his mind? It wasn't like he had never seen her in life-threatening danger before. She ought to reject him, send him back to Calimport as far away from Eric and his Hooded Master as possible and yet…

"I wanted you to know in case we don't make it out of here," he said. His voice was almost pleading as though he had been longing to confess, and that his pent-up feelings were overflowing the dam he had built to contain them. "I would rather spend just one moment holding you now, even if we die here, than survive a lifetime knowing I never could."

In truth Arrow was not fond of such over-the-top romantic declarations. When Imoen had read those parts of her storybooks aloud with a dreamy look in her eyes, the ranger had struggled to keep a straight face. She and Rasaad had known each other only a few months and all this talk of 'lifetimes' was ridiculous, but she was too besotted with the monk to care. As he drew her near, finally, her heart hammered against her chest. The bow fell from her hand as he stroked her arms and leaned forward to kiss her. She closed her eyes, tilted her head and felt a rush of scorching air singe her cheek.

Rasaad dropped Arrow with a shrill scream and her eyes sprang open, to see Viconia raise her flaming blade for a second strike. So the Sharran had decided to take out her rival goddesses' follower after all!

"You bitch!" Arrow shrieked. Her bow was still on the ground, but she pulled an arrow from her quiver and thrust it with all her strength into Viconia's shoulder. "We should have killed you when you stabbed Khalid!"

"Fool!" spat the drow in response.

"I would expect no less from a servant of Shar!" roared Rasaad, charging Viconia. Arrow snatched up her bow and took aim as the monk rained blows upon the cleric. She was about to fire before her brain belatedly caught up.

If Rasaad had fought and defeated the other doppelgangers then where were their bodies? It was Xan and Viconia, not Rasaad who had been on their way to the tower. He would never make a romantic declaration like that, especially not to her. She had believed what she wanted to believe. Viconia was right, she was a fool.

She shot the Rasaad-doppelganger in the neck, which Viconia then parted from its body with a sweep of her flaming sword. It was awful watching Rasaad die like that, his tattooed head bouncing down the steps, his eyes wide and empty. For a split-second Arrow had a horrible surge of doubt and terror. Then, in death, the doppelganger resumed its true form. Purple-grey blood streamed from its severed neck and down the stairs like a polluted waterfall.

Her real saviour, Viconia, was glaring at her with accusing red eyes. She pulled the arrow out of her shoulder furiously and muttered a healing spell. Arrow knew she ought to thank her, (not to mention apologise) but she was too angry and humiliated to say anything. A shimmering colour spray spread up the spiral staircase, pooling at her feet. Realizing that Xan was still fighting, Viconia sprang down the stairs to assist him, accidentally-on-purpose knocking Arrow out of the way. The ranger's back hit the cold, hard stones and she stared for a moment at the body of the monster she had almost allowed to kiss her. No doubt seconds later it would have taken the opportunity to throttle her.

She had to get a grip and help the two elves. A cleric and a wizard would struggle to keep back this many large monsters for long. She came to her senses, grabbed her bow and burst into the living room after Viconia. The Draxle-doppelganger was frozen, immobilized in the centre of the room. Her face was contorted in an expression of murderous rage and her paralysed hand was clawing toward Xan.

The elf had drawn his moonblade and already two dead doppelgangers lay sprawled at his feet. The creatures smelled terrible in death, like a butcher's in summer and something else. They lent the air an alkaline quality that prickled the lungs. There were six of them still moving around the room. They knew that they had him by numbers alone, and yet as individuals they hesitated to be the first to charge and share the first two's fate. Xan had his eyes fixed on them.

Taking advantage of the fact that he did not see Viconia come in, one of the doppelgangers seized the opportunity to take on her face and run at him. Xan suspected a trick but he hesitated and that pause cost him dearly. The doppelganger swung at him with a heavy fist. It struck him in the temple and slammed his skull into the stonework behind him with a sickening crunch. Viconia screamed but could do nothing as the wizard fell.

Arrow pulled back her bowstring and fired at Draxle, since the doppelganger was unable to defend itself. It was a hard, unnatural thing to do. As the half-elf's dark skin faded to its true sickly grey colour and her clothes dissolved into a featureless humanoid, she noticed with disgust that Draxle's boots remained unchanged. The sadistic creature had taken them from Draxle's bed and put them on.

Viconia was in a near-berserk state of rage. Drawing on some unholy power from her goddess, she was butchering the doppelgangers. Had the creatures all charged her at once she would not have stood a chance, but these were stalkers and trappers by nature, not warriors. They held back, striking opportunistically, each hoping that one of their fellows would be the first to charge in. Then they could attack without being felled.

It gave Arrow an opportunity to cripple them one by one. Unfortunately this also drew their attention and two of them made for her, realising that in melee, she was the weaker target. At that moment Rasaad entered the room, followed by Khalid and Jaheira. Arrow saw the hand of a fallen human sticking out of the doorway. Her stomach twisted as she realised that it must be Hull. Khalid and Rasaad immediately engaged the two nearest doppelgangers, while Jaheira ran to help Arrow.

"Oh no, you don't fool me twice!" snapped Arrow, and shot her in the leg. Jaheira dropped to one knee with a yell and responded with entangling vines. The roots sprang from cracks in the stonework, ensnaring Arrow but doing the girl no damage. The druid transformed into a great bear and clapped her paws together around the heads of the two doppelgangers, slamming them together with a loud crack. She resumed her usual form, wrenching the arrow from her thigh and healing herself just as Viconia had done before.

"What in the name of Silvanus is it with you and shooting your own allies?" snarled Jaheira starting toward her ward aggressively.

"Xan!" Viconia alerted her. Jaheira looked around at the dead wizard and her face took on an anxious expression.

"We will have words later!" she snapped at Arrow warningly and crouched beside Xan as Rasaad and Khalid beat down the last two monsters. As Jaheira bent down with Viconia to take Xan's pulse she shook her head. "We will need to get him to a temple for revival immediately."

Knowing that Xan would be ok, though doubtless even more nervous than before once they had brought him back, Arrow turned her attention to Hull. She could tell at once that the doppelganger posing as Rasaad had lied. There was no hope of reviving him. The creatures had ripped him open with their clawed hands and spread his entrails half-way down the stairs.

"He'll need rest afterwards," muttered Jaheira resentfully. "I hope this doesn't give Sarevok a chance to carry out his plan to set Arrow up for murder."

"She has no-one but herself to blame if he does!" screamed Viconia, rounding on Arrow. "If she hadn't shot me, we would have got here in time to prevent this. How do we know she isn't a doppelganger?"

Arrow ignored her and removed Hull's helmet. His face was so still and peaceful in death. His long brown hair bound back in a half ponytail plastered it. If you didn't look below the neckline, he might have been sleeping. She remembered running little errands for him as a teenager in Candlekeep. The memory had made her feel so silly, and yet it turned out he'd been in the grip of a childish crush of his own and dealt with it equally badly. It did not make her think less of him in the end.

"You shot Viconia too?" exclaimed Jaheira, livid.

"Not now dear," mumbled Khalid, "This isn't the time." He had Rasaad were watching Arrow place Hull's head down on the floor and make the sign of Ilmater over his body. The monk felt a surge of guilt about his jealous reaction to the man when they had first met. Truly his feelings were wrong, and if he strayed from the path Selune had laid out for him, they would lead him into darkness.

"Wait, aren't we going to vote on whether she stays? Like you did with me?" demanded Viconia, "Or when the _human_ accidentally attacks her own party does she get a pass? Is that it?"

"Viconia has a point," said Rasaad, fairly.

Arrow was not really listening. Tears pricked behind her eyes and not just for Hull, but for all of the occupants of this tower who were unfortunate enough to be called Gorion's children. For Draxle, Afoxe and Thorg. For the forgotten little boy who lost his life to a horses' kick only to have his image manipulated by these monsters. For Eric, who had doomed himself with his own cowardly life choices. For Freya locked up all alone each full moon in her barren tower.

"Fine, I vote stay," snapped Jaheira impatiently.

Yet more than anyone else, Arrow hurt for Imoen. She deserved better than to have to grow up with a father who ignored her and a curse that strangled her unless she kept secrets from everyone she cared about. The worst part was that Imoen still loved Gorion, though for the life of her Arrow couldn't understand why. She herself had come to loathe him with all her being.

"I vote stay too," said Viconia stiffly. "Since she also voted to keep me in, but like her I say on sufferance. She's a bloody liability, don't deny it."

"I vote stay. O- obviously," said Khalid.

Arrow strode into Gorion's study and swept up Imoen's tear-stained drawing of them all. Unseen and unheard by the rest of the party, she added a few droplets of her own, before folding the drawing up and pocketing it.

"I vote go," said Rasaad quietly.

That penetrated through her grief. The ranger had not seen it coming. Though Rasaad's vote was not enough to expel her from the group now, even if Xan were to wake up and concur, she had never imagined that the monk would want to abandon her before they left for Baldur's Gate. Everyone was staring at him and she stepped out of the room and joined them, tight-lipped.

"Sarevok wants to frame you for murder. Eric is bringing his master to Baldur's Gate," said Rasaad quietly. "You are a hunted woman. I truly believe at this point that your best chance of survival is to go into hiding until the rest of us have sorted things out."

The monk could not meet the ranger's glare, though he felt it on him. There could be no better outcome though. If she could only be persuaded to take some quiet work as a farmhand or a domestic servant until all this had blown over, she would be safe and he would no longer be tempted by her presence. It was for the best, she must see that.

She was not seeing it at all. Her brown eyes had frosted over with a sort of cold fury that Rasaad had never seen there before.

"Arrow-" he began weakly.

"I believe that makes the vote three to one in my favour?" she cut him off in an icy voice. He nodded mutely. "Then pick up Xan and bring him to the shrine of Oghma. The priest there will revive him for a modest fee."

They did not need telling twice. Lugging Xan down the staircase was not easy, and when they got into the main castle people started screaming. Arrow had to explain that they had been attacked in Gorion's tower and that Hull was also dead. This led to some consternation, Hull was popular. They heard the beginnings of some angry muttering, prompting Viconia to pull her hood up over her head, but fortunately there was still some confusion amongst the Candlekeep occupants as to who Gorion's ward actually was. Fortunately most of the guards remembered Afoxe, a fine and pious paladin. Added to that Freya's heroic reputation across the Sword Coast and through the confusion they were allowed to leave.

Xan revived in the open-air shrine with a strangled scream. The wizard sat bolt upright, panting in the cold, fresh air. The daylight was dazzling after the stuffy gloom of the tower. He looked about him frantically and the first face he found was Viconia's. He calmed down a little.

"You brought me back?" he gasped.

"That death would have been far too quick for you," she said on reflex. "When your time comes I want you to suffer."

It was interesting, Xan noted, that a lot of the time what the drow said failed to line up with what she actually did. Certainly she liked to broadcast how little she cared about any of them, and yet her actions consistently told a different story. It was an indisputable fact that in the Underdark Llolth pressured her followers into extremes of pointless violence. Yet perhaps a large part of their cultural differences rested in how literally they expected threats and insults to be taken. Surfacers tended to judge by words, whereas Viconia seemed to expect to be able to say anything, and for the others to base their opinion of her on track record alone.

He was too tired to think on it much further. They half carried him back to the inn, placed him in a room of his own and left him to sleep. He was on the verge of dozing off when the door opened. Viconia slipped through, checking the corridor as she did so to make sure that the others did not see. Xan hadn't the stomach to tell her that they all already knew.

"You risked your life to save mine," he murmured vaguely. She stomped over and plonked herself at the edge of his bed, arms folded. "Thank you."

"A risk I would not have needed to take if you were not such a pathetic, limp creature, but at least I get one thank you," she fumed, "Which is more than I can expect from that rivvil brat! She hasn't even apologised for shooting me."

" _Not so limp,"_ Xan thought, though he was near-paralysed by exhaustion. Resurrection spells drained both caster and recipient. Viconia continued to vent about Arrow at considerable length. While he agreed with her that the ranger was being an arse, he was much too tired to worry about it, and too distracted. He reached out to stroke her silver hair sleepily.

"Are you even listening?" she snapped at him.

"Come here," he mumbled and pulled her down into the bed beside him. Viconia rolled her eyes, her face buried into his robes which he had not bothered to remove. For a man who was recently a corpse he did smell quite nice. Like the herbs they had used in his revival. She was tired and cross but resigned herself to satisfying him. He had earned it she supposed, and yet he seemed too drained to attempt it. Gradually his gentle, comforting stroking of her hair slowed to a stop and his breathing deepened.

Such affection was considered something of a taboo where she came from and it made her uncomfortable. Watching his face as he slept, like she was doing now, and feeling things was 'undrow.' It would be about as appropriate in Menzoberranzan as if Rasaad were to return home to his monastery wearing a studded jockstrap and ball gag. On the other hand she was not in the Underdark and probably never would be again, and this was strangely nice.

"I'm using you Xan," she told herself as a psychological defence, though she would have struggled to justify what for. "And I'm only looking at you for inspiration as to how to torture you later. Nothing too permanent though. I don't want to spoil your face."

She kissed his nose and snuggled into the crook of his arm, where she stayed for the rest of the night. Viconia was not missed. In their theoretically shared room, Arrow was reading, slowly.

"' _Hello my child,_

_If you are reading this it means that I have met an untimely death. I would tell you not to grieve for me but I feel much better thinking that you would.'_ Not likely, you bastard," she muttered aloud. "Yap, yap, yap. Ok now he's getting to the point: _'I am not your bi-o… biow… (_ whatever). _I am not your father. That dis-tin-cut-I-on_ (no idea) _lies with an en-tit-ee known as Bhaal._ ' Well that was a lot of effort for something I knew already."

She pondered simply asking Jaheira what the letter she had found said. Apparently while she was searching the tower the others had found Rieltar in the library. The man was not hiding but when they tried to talk to him, he had told them to get lost. There didn't seem much choice short of butchering him in a library so Jaheira and Khalid had searched Gorion's offices upstairs and found this letter. She didn't want to ask them to read it. No doubt Xan would have told the others about her reading difficulties but she would rather pretend they didn't know. She had suffered enough embarrassment for one day.

It took a long time but eventually she managed to garner some sense from the letter. The only semi-new information was that Bhaal had 'forced himself' on all of their mothers. Arrow was not sure she entirely believed that. They had, after all, been rescued from a temple of Bhaal, a major deity with a very large following. Why risk capturing so many women and holding them for their gestation when he would have had scores of devoted volunteers at his beck and call?

"Still lying to us from beyond the grave Gorion?" she said aloud. Oh, and that Gorion had once been the lover of at least one of their mothers, so there was perhaps a very small grain of truth in what she had been told as a child after all. "I just hope it wasn't my mother you were screwing." She crumpled the letter, preparing to throw it into the fire, before she remembered that Freya and Imoen had a right to read it too. She folded it up with Imoen's drawing and placed them both into her backpack before drifting off to sleep.

Speaking of Freya and Imoen; Arrow was hovering above the Baldur's Gate prison room again. It was still home to the entire group and smelled a lot worse than the last time she had seen them. Freya's party were used to excitement and physical activity but in here they were starting to show symptoms of advanced boredom. Minsc was banging the back of his head repeatedly against the wall, or at least he would have been if Dynaheir had not nobly placed her hand in the way. Coran, still trapped in female form, had ripped and refashioned his shirt to be less constricting. Imoen and Freya were playing a game that involved trying to throw the pink-haired girl's smaller boots into the werewolf's huge ones. Safana meanwhile was constructing a corn-dolly with her delicate, clever fingers out of what looked like hair torn from Freya's head.

"I ought to throw those boots at you Freya, you useless bitch," she snapped spitefully. Incarceration did not agree with the thief. Deprived of her usual beauty regime and products her skin had turned rather spotty and her hair hung in greasy clumps around her angular face. Freya herself looked none the worse for wear but her arm was still broken and she was throwing left-handed.

"I'll tolerate most of your insults Safana, given the circumstances," growled Freya, "But I should warn you that going around calling female werewolves "bitch" is the sort of thing that can get a girl eaten… and I don't mean in a good way. Anyway, how am I the useless one here? Three sodding thieves in this party and none of you can pick a damn lock."

"Hey, no fair, they took our tools!" complained Imoen, "We don't pick locks with our teeth y'know."

" _You_ couldn't pick a lock that was already open if it had the key next to it and a big glowing sign overhead saying, 'I am an open lock!'" observed Safana. Imoen stuck her tongue out at her.

"Hush," hissed Coran, "The guards are coming!"

There came the sound of several sets of boots tromping down the corridor. A key slipped into the lock and clicked. There was a long pause, then the door was booted open hard. Clearly the guards expected an attempted ambush.

"Hey, newbie, you go in and get her," a woman's voice commanded. "You like pawing at female officers so much, just wait till you get a load of this one."

There was some snickering from the other guards as the handsy new recruit strode confidently into the cell. His eyes widened when they lit upon the female version of Coran, who looked a bit nauseous at being leered at, but the guard's jaw almost hit the floor when he saw Freya. The werewolf seemed to have expected that they were coming for her and was trying to retie her boots one-handed.

"Up you get. Yer coming with us blondie," the guard hollered. "Sarevok sent word that he is on his way back to Baldur's Gate and he fancies a word with you."

"Oh no, who will save me?" Freya cried theatrically. The woman was clearly not one of nature's great actresses, and Safana let out a frustrated sigh.

"I can see what yer up to," the guard sneered, "So don't be thinking about pulling any of that werewolf crap. I got me a nice sharp dagger here and if I see so much as a strand of fur poking out of you, I will be using it!"

"Oh come on, that's just paranoid. How am I supposed to transform with a broken arm?" asked Freya. "I'm pretty tough, but that's above even my pain threshold."

"Hadn't thought of that," admitted the guard, moving a bit closer.

"And people say I'm dumb," sneered Freya. "So tell me, what's wrong with your face? Did a cow step on you as a baby or were your parents brother and sister?"

Her provocation was obvious and unoriginal but luckily her target was not very smart, so it achieved the desired effect. The guard belted her across the face. It was no more than a pat to the magically-enhanced lycanthrope, but Freya gave a melodramatic wail and swooned. He yanked her to her feet by her broken arm. This time her yelp was genuine, and her good arm swung at his face on reflex. There was a loud crack and the guard staggered back, blood streaming from his nose. Half a dozen more Iron Throne guards stormed into the cell. Two of them seized Freya by the arms, laughing at their unfortunate comrade. A third began tying her in loop after loop of rope. The others held her party back with their swords.

"The eyes, don't forget to go for the eyes!" cried Minsc, cryptically as they prepared to drag Freya away.

They were good knots and one of her arms was broken and useless. Without transforming there was no way even Freya would be able to break free on her own, but Arrow spotted a flicker of orange fur and two beady eyes peeking out of Freya's sleeve. Unnoticed by the guards who were focussed on the werewolf, Minsc's tiny hamster, Boo, began to gnaw through the ropes at her wrists.

"So I'm off to see Sarevok am I?" Freya asked the Iron Throne captain conversationally. "I gotta admit I'm a bit surprised. I reckoned he'd just murder me in my cell."

"Chance would be a fine thing," sighed Safana.

"Sarevok wants to do it himself for some reason," sighed the captain irritably. "And he wants to do it upstairs in the main hall. Make an event of it, you know?"

"Nobles," nodded Freya sympathetically, "Always have to turn the simplest jobs into a bloody drama…"

"It's plain old snobbery, that's what it is!" chimed in Imoen. "Who cares if you do her in or he does? Dead's dead if you ask me. You'd probably do it neater too what with being a professional!"

"I know, right? It's to 'honour his father' apparently, although why Rieltar would give a rat's arse who kills you I don't know," said the captain. "Most likely he'll just complain about the expense of having to change his blood-stained carpets. He even made us bring a witness from the Flaming Fist!" She gestured to a teenage boy in an oversized uniform who waved at them nervously.

"What for? I would have thought a witness would be the last thing thine master would want?" scoffed Dynaheir.

"Oh er… I… I'm to say that you attacked him first," the Flaming Fist youth mumbled apologetically. "I'm real sorry and all, but they threatened me nan and seeing as how they're going to kill you anyway…"

"Quit your snivelling!" snapped the captain.

"Okie dokie," said Freya, "That ought to do it."

"Do what?" asked the captain stupidly.

Freya whipped her arm free and snatched the captain's sword from her sheath. The captain seized the handle and there was a brief tussle, but no normal human could win that match. The werewolf kicked out hard with her right boot, which was still half hanging off, and stabbed another guard as she stumbled back.

All of the remaining guards swung at Freya at once, with two of them managing to land significant blows. Boo squeaked and ducked into her cleavage shivering. Saving the party was enough heroics for such a tiny fuzzy for one day. Freya emitted a string of foul language as red fountains sprang from her waist and shoulder. Tactically the guards had made an unwise move however, because it gave Minsc a chance to take the fallen guard's sword and for Coran to pinch his dagger.

"I'll take that," said Safana sweetly, slipping the Flaming Fist lad's dagger out of his belt in one swift movement. She and Coran backstabbed while the guards were preoccupied with Minsc and trying to finish off Freya, who had slipped backward in a spreading pool of her own blood. The Flaming Fist representative fidgeted, reluctant to die in someone else's fight but worried about what would happen to his nan if he failed to intervene. He was saved from having to decide immediately by Imoen, who wrapped her arms around him from behind and wrestled him to the floor.

"Fuck me," moaned Freya, sweat pouring down her face, her teeth clenched in agony. The combination of repeated jolting of her broken arm and multiple deep sword wounds would have rendered a normal human unconscious by this point. Freya, however, was not a normal human and had to endure the full experience.

"Maybe later," replied Coran reflexively, cutting a guard's throat with one hand and stealing her purse with the other.

Freya grinned through the pain at her still-female friend as she staggered halfway to her feet. With one hard lunge she impaled the unfortunate captain on her own sword. "Cut that out Coran, you're pissing off Safana, which is a bad idea seeing as she's armed again now." She pulled herself, with her good arm, over the captain's body and began fumbling clumsily in her pack with blood-sticky hands.

"Thank the goddess, healing potions!" cried Freya. She grabbed two and downed them in quick succession, grinning with relief as the wounds began to close. She shook out her healed arm, flexing her hand. "Good news ladies, my fingers are working again! Tell the noblewomen of Baldur's Gate to put down the poison bottles, their lives are still worth living after all!"

Arrow's invisible eyes blinked in shocked disapproval. She was not averse to the odd off-colour double-entendre herself, but this was a bit much. Only a few days ago, prior to Jaheira's instructive lessons about orgasm, that joke would have gone over her head and she felt she would have been happier for it. It was clear now which piece of soul Imoen had got her base sense of humour from.

"Urgh, that sounds like something _you_ would say" groaned Safana to Coran. "Carry on like this and the pupil is in danger of overtaking the master."

Coran laughed, ecstatic at having his freedom back. He attempted to pull Safana into a celebratory kiss but she pushed him back roughly. Clearly his cursed femininity was doing nothing for her. All the Iron Throne guards lay dead now and Dynaheir, who'd had nothing to contribute up to this point, began stripping their bodies for anything useful. Minsc was beaming. He had a sword in his hand again and, with Boo's assistance, had just successfully kicked half a dozen butts.

The Flaming Fist guard finally managed to throw Imoen off and got to his feet, wobbling like a toddler. The werewolf gave him an appraising look. For a pimply little kid he was handling this pretty bravely. His sword was drawn ready for his first, and last, battle and he hadn't wet himself. It was far from full moon and she wasn't finding the smell of blood as appetizing as she normally did. She really did not want to kill the poor little sod.

"Stand down boy," ordered Freya, "This is between us and the Iron Throne. I've got no beef with the Flaming Fist. You know Jessa Vai, right? Friend of mine, fine woman. She wouldn't want me to disembowel one of her lads. C'mon put that sword away."

The young man still looked petrified. He was still holding out his sword but his arms were shaking so hard that it was difficult to be sure whom he was pointing it at. The colour had drained away from his face and his lip was wobbling slightly.

"Don't be an arse, boy. I could take down a hundred of you blindfolded, but then who's going to look after your nan, eh?" she asked reasonably.

"My superiors..." he whined. His eyes were watering slightly. At over six feet tall, Freya towered far above the unfortunate recruit. Her thick hair was tousled from the battle and framed her face in a great golden halo. It was like a kitten trying to stare down a lion. He looked like he wanted to cry.

"Oh, poor little sweetheart. Let me help," purred Safana. "I take it from your uniform that you're not an officer yet?"

He shook his head mutely.

"Then surely you should check with your superiors before engaging in a dispute between two groups of private citizens?" she said.

"They'll order me to arrest you while they investigate," he said glumly, his sword flopping to his side with a dull clang.

"Of course they will," agreed still-female Coran with a sly wink, "But when you come to arrest us we'll be gone, and it will be someone else's problem won't it?"

The guard looked from the three smiling women to the bodies of the Iron Throne soldiers strewn across the floor. Every one of them was bigger, better armed and more experienced than he was, and they were all dead. He bit his lip.

"The pen pushers back at Headquarters wouldn't like it if I arrested you without the proper paperwork," he said, slowly backing away. "Safeguarding. 'Elf n' safety and all that."

"Exactly," Safana smiled indulgently. "Can't even make a suicidal attack on six innocent civilians without triple signatures these days."

"Well, sorry, nothing I can do," he shrugged, sheathing his sword and straightening his armour. It was well polished and undented. "I'll just have to arrest you later. Goodbye!"

He turned and half-ran from the dungeon and out the servant's entrance, conveniently showing them the fastest way out as he did so. The chiming of his metal studded boots on the stone floor echoed loudly. No doubt more guards and perhaps Sarevok himself would be on their way to see what was going on and the party was not yet properly armed. Best not to hang around.

"Sensible lad," nodded Freya approvingly. "They get a bad rap, the Flaming Fist, but they're mostly good kids really."

"We'll agree to disagree," said Coran, shaking his head. Arrow disagreed too. She had also met Officer Vai, and she felt that anyone who could describe that scalp-hoarding lunatic as a 'fine woman' was someone with whom she would have difficulty finding common ground. "Come on, let's get out of here. I want this blasted girdle off."

"Pity," remarked Freya wistfully. Safana narrowed her eyes at her.

"Minsc wants a bigger sword!" Minsc held out his hand and Boo scurried from Freya, back up his sleeve. The Beserker looked happy. "And all the cheese our heroic hamster friend can eat!"

"I will require a replacement spell book," said Dynaheir haughtily. "And I have told you before, do not feed thine hamster cheese! It will get stuck in his cheek pouches and rot."

"We're not doing _anything_ until I've had a bath and a hot meal," snapped Safana.

"We have a plan then. First we wash you, then we re-masculinize Coran," agreed Freya sardonically, "And then, when you've all finished your very important shopping, how about we go kick Sarevok's arse before he murders us all?"

Arrow heard the clanging of guards coming for Freya's party and woke up with a start. She was in her room in Winthrope's Inn but the marching continued. Her mouth felt dry and she took a sip of cool water from her bedside table. Then the door burst off of its hinges in a shower of splinters and dust. A troop of armoured guards filed into her room. She sat up in her undergarments, utterly bemused.

"Frey-A-rowan!" cried one of the guards. He squinted at her, then frowned like her presence was giving him a migraine. "Gorion's ward! I am placing you under arrest for the assassination of Rieltar, Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate."


	24. Imoen's Grave

The guard glared at Arrow who was still in her nightgown. As an Ilmatari, Arrow's night clothes covered more of her than most adventurers' daywear, but it was still awkward. She was getting used to puzzled expressions like the ones these guards were wearing though. Gorion's spells had jumbled the memories of all the Candlekeep Bhaalspawn into one, but nowhere was this more apparent than in the keep itself.

"This is going to sound strange," said the guard, half-apologetically, "But I could have _sworn_ you used to be a boy. No offence."

"You might be thinking of Afoxe," said Arrow. She knew the young paladin had spent a lot of time with the Master of Arms and was well known in the barracks.

"Yeah, that's right! I remember now." A shadow seemed to lift from the man's face. "Afoxe. Did you know Hull used to have a thing for him? We used to take the biscuit something wicked. I do feel a bit bad about that mind, now the poor lad is dead."

In truth it had been Freya that Hull once 'had a thing' for but Arrow did not bother to correct him. She had been half-expecting something like this to happen but had been too distracted to give much thought to what she would do if it did.

"So should I, erm, put some clothes on first? How does this work?" she asked, still not properly woken up. "Sorry, I've never been arrested before, you'll have to help me with the etiquette. And my name is Arowan. Freya is someone else."

The guard's face contorted, his frown lines creasing into great canyons as his brain fought the tail-end of Gorion's spell. Arrow briefly considered taking the opportunity to run away, but that would mean leaving her equipment behind, and without it she wouldn't get very far.

"Yeah Arowan, get dressed," he said slowly. "And take your time. I need a minute to figure this out."

He held back, massaging his temples. Behind him, some of the other guards were blinking and shaking their heads, as though trying to dislodge something unpleasant. Gorion's memory spells had really done a number on them.

"We could charm them," suggested Xan quietly as they filed out. The guards trudged along behind them, disorientated to the point of drunkenness.

"No," said Arrow firmly. "Gorion messed with their heads enough, I'm not going to risk giving them brain damage. Besides if we don't clear our names the Flaming Fist are only going to keep coming after us."

"If they find us guilty, Sarevok will hang us!" Viconia reminded her urgently. "This may be our only chance!"

"Sarevok is a dead man," said Arrow bluntly. "He is on his way back to Baldur's Gate to finish off Freya, but he's in for a shock when he gets there. I had another vision last night. She's free."

"How?" demanded Viconia.

"A hamster rescued her."

"There is a time and a place for your sarcasm child," Jaheira said sternly. "This isn't it."

Arrow allowed the guards to lead them to a cell in the barracks. To her own surprise, she was not unduly concerned. Maybe she was growing an unhealthy habituation to living under constant threat of death, or perhaps since the events in the Cloud Peaks she had moved beyond stress and into something closer to shell-shock. Either way, the situation did not seem particularly dire. From what she had picked up in her visions it sounded like Freya was well connected in Baldur's Gate with friends in the nobility and the Flaming Fist, one of whom could now testify that Sarevok had meant to murder her. Not to mention the persuasive power of her astronomical charisma. Were she to succeed in 'kicking Sarevok's arse,' no doubt a pardon would swiftly follow.

Even if it did not, Eric and his master would be arriving in the city soon. Arrow suspected that the Hooded Man had not gone to all this effort to acquire his Bhaalspawn just to see them swing. That latter thought was not entirely comforting, but she was convinced that they were in no immediate danger of execution by the Flaming Fist.

The gate clanged shut and the guard locked it with a big silver key. It was a nice, clean cell, the only one in the barracks. The dunny pail was dry and empty and there was a sweet smell of fresh straw. Despite the large number of wardens stationed in Candlekeep, it did not appear that the jail got a lot of use. The guard shuffled his feet looking worried.

"Can I ask you something Arowan?" he asked gruffly. She nodded. "Gorion's young lad, Afoxe? The one who was training to be a paladin? He was a student of mine, and a friend. I don't suppose you know what happened to him?"

"He was murdered by Rieltar's son, Sarevok," Arrow replied gently. "I'm sorry."

The guard removed his helmet and mopped his balding brow with a handkerchief. Under his ruddy face were fatherly, grey eyes and they were welling up. He sighed and replaced his helmet, shoving the damp little cloth up his sleeve.

"And is that why you killed Rieltar?" he asked.

"I didn't kill Rieltar," said Arrow, truthfully. The guard studied her face, then sighed and shook his head.

"Well it doesn't matter what I think," he said regretfully. "If you had killed Rieltar for that reason I'd have been of a mind to turn you loose. Ulraunt is in charge of Candlekeep though, and he's determined to see you packed off to Baldur's Gate. Even if I were to open this gate there are powerful wards protecting the castle. If you tried to sneak or fight your way out, you'd be ripped asunder."

The guards filed out, leaving the party alone. Viconia immediately began testing the bars, looking for any loose ones. Xan, desolate at being imprisoned again, slumped to the floor with his head in his hands. Khalid wrapped his arms protectively around Jaheira, while Rasaad stared stoically at the wall.

"Well on the b- bright side, it's a good thing we ran into that t- talking ch- ch- chicken when we did!" stammered Khalid with a weak smile. "You were going to try breaking in with a grappling hook!"

The door burst open and the guard ran back in dragging one of the monks by the hand. Arrow recognized him as a man named Tethtoril.

"Hello young one," the monk panted, "I am sorry to see you in such terrible circumstances. I know you well enough to know that you have been falsely accused. Tomorrow Ulraunt will most likely sentence you to be sent to Baldur's Gate."

"Sarevok is being taken care of," Arrow reassured him. "We'll go. It's ok."

"No it isn't, it definitely isn't!" cried Tethtoril wildly. "Candlekeep has been infested by monstrous shapeshifters. They've taken on the faces of my friends and colleagues, but they are not they."

"The doppelgangers. I've met them," said Arrow.

"But there is worse, much worse," he dropped his voice to an anguished whisper. "I heard them talking to Koveras, or Sarevok or whoever he is. He has these doppelgangers replacing nobles and influential people all over Baldur's Gate. Don't you see? Soon it won't matter whether Sarevok lives or dies. Either way these fiends will rule the Sword Coast! You must stop them!"

"How?" asked Jaheira, urgently.

"What's the use of even trying?" Xan moaned dejectedly. "Our enemy could be anyone and anywhere. We're already defeated."

"Make your way through the catacombs beneath the library but disturb them not. I have your possessions with me. You must take them and go in haste to an abandoned tower, which once belonged to a dwarf lord named Durlag. I will mark it on your map. This is where Sarevok has been recruiting the cursed creatures from. You must cut them off at the source, otherwise, no matter how many are discovered they will just keep coming!" Tethtoril insisted.

"Thank you for helping us," said Viconia, adding pointedly; "It is nice to thank people when they save your miserable hide. Isn't it? Arowan?"

"I can teleport you to the secret room that leads to the catacombs. From there you are on your own," said Tethtoril. "You must be careful within the catacombs as there are many guardians and traps, and perhaps more of the creatures."

He paused as though fighting some painful internal struggle. Viconia narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and linked her fingers discretely with Xan's as he stood up. He tightened his hand over hers very slightly reassuring her and being reassured.

"Whatever you find down there," Tethtoril said finally, "You should know that Gorion was a good man. He thought he was acting for the best when he made her. He just wanted to protect you. All of you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Arrow, but it was too late. The teleportation spell was already taking effect.

They found themselves in a small dark room lit by a single candle. The door leading back to the upper levels of the keep appeared heavily warded. There was nowhere to go but through the opposite door. It led to a long corridor lined with flickering braziers. They gave off no smoke and were clearly magical in nature. The passage gave way to a similarly lit square room with passages leading off it in all directions.

A doppelganger, taking the form of one of the yard hands was lurking in this room. She must have meant something to one of the Bhaalspawn or it would not have bothered to take her shape, but Arrow knew her only by sight. Still, she hoped that the creatures had not hurt the real woman, who had nothing to do with any of this.

It made no effort to talk with them, instead hissing and attacking at once. She supposed that taking the form of people she knew around the keep was an attempt to rattle rather than trick her. It didn't work, the ranger shot it with cold indifference and it fell with an unearthly wail and a splatter of purple-grey blood. As it died it gave off the same unpleasant chemical smell as its kin had done in Gorion's tower. She was growing to really loathe doppelgangers. Even in death they were a pain in the arse.

"At least they've given up on trying to trick us, like that one you killed Viconia," she observed casually, stalking down the left-hand passageway, motioning to the others to stay put. She hadn't a clue where to go but it seemed as good a direction as any.

"You're welcome for that by the way," Viconia yelled after her sarcastically. She turned to Xan and said quietly, "I am growing more than a little tired of taking orders from that child and her guardian!"

"Arrow is harmless," Xan replied. "She's had a rough time that's all."

"She has no concept of what a 'rough time' even means!" muttered Viconia.

"But we do," sighed Xan dolefully. His mind transported him back to the Nashkel mines. In his determination to unlock the power of Xan's moonblade, Mulahey had come close to breaking him mentally as well as physically. The gods alone knew what Viconia had endured since her exile.

That thought was more than he could stand. He wrapped his arms about her and held her close, fingers buried in her shiny hair, wanting nothing more than to take her somewhere they could both be safe. To Viconia's shame and embarrassment, she found herself melting in to him and nuzzling his neck.

There was a sound of a latch clicking and a whistle of tiny darts. Arrow gave a stoical grunt of pain and took a sip of healing potion. She retraced her steps and motioned to the rest of the party to follow her. Rasaad and Khalid were eyeing her anxiously. Apparently in the absence of a thief to deactivate traps, she had decided to use her ranger's constitution to absorb the damage herself by running ahead of the others to set them off. It was an extremely high-risk strategy but being back in Candlekeep seemed to have put her in a reckless mood.

"I'm getting fed up with Jaheira's leadership too," Xan confessed. "I was sent out to investigate the iron crisis, but I have a feeling that will be resolved soon. I was considering going home."

Viconia looked downcast. Though this did not come as a complete surprise to her, she had hoped to put it off a little longer. She made to follow Arrow down the passageway, but the wizard gently caught her arm.

"Viconia?" Xan swallowed nervously, "How would you feel about possibly coming with me?"

"XAN!" barked Jaheira down the corridor, "Get in here! We need you to cast Knock and open this casket."

Xan gritted his teeth and breathed in furiously. The cleric, however, was grateful to have been bought a second or two more thinking time. She would have to leave the party soon. Being ordered around by the rivvil and the half-breed was growing more intolerable by the day, and Xan would be useful to have around. He was a skilled wizard, his company was moderately entertaining and he was tolerably attractive for his kind she supposed. Yet home for Xan meant the elven stronghold of Evereska. For a drow to attempt to enter that city was beyond ridiculous. She'd probably survive longer if she returned to the Underdark!

"Alright, now get out all of you," ordered Arrow. Xan strode back toward her, fuming. Go here, go there. It was clear that he was losing patience with their instructions almost as quickly as she was. Not without good reason. The two of them were by far the most intelligent in this group, it was demeaning for them to have to constantly bow to the will of the druid and the ranger.

Arrow opened the chest. There was a blinding flash of light and a crackle and the girl was thrown backward halfway down the passageway. She landed flat on her back and for a second she didn't move. Viconia hurried over, half hoping the ungrateful worm had died, but alas she was still breathing so she healed her reluctantly and they stripped the chest of its content.

"A few potions," grumbled Arrow disappointedly. "Well that was hardly worth it. Next!"

"Arrow wait!" called Rasaad, hurrying down the corridor after her. "What has gotten into you?"

"What has gotten into her? Do you think it was that guard Hull getting killed? Or Rasaad voting her out of the group?" Xan wondered quietly to Viconia. They followed her into one crypt and then another, each punctuated by Arrow being hit by the various defensive traps. Some of them also housed more doppelgangers, but alone and without a chance to trick them they were easily dispatched. Viconia told him how the Rasaad doppelganger had tricked the ranger. In response Xan told Viconia about her reading problems. He felt a twinge of guilt, but on the other hand it was not like he and Arrow were particularly close. He didn't owe her anything. To her credit, Viconia did not laugh at the girl.

"So one of the treehuggers can't even read?" she said, her voice dripping with annoyance. "One more reason to move on, but my answer is no Xan. Evereska is out of the question, it would be suicide and it was foolish of you to suggest it." The elf looked crestfallen. Perhaps she could throw the pathetic creature a bone. "I mean to travel with this group as far as Baldur's Gate but not into the city itself. From there I will go North where it is darker much of the year and the land more sparsely populated. I have no objection to your following me if you would feel safer that way."

Xan allowed a rare ray of hope to penetrate his dismal overcast mind. Though she made it sound like a matter of utmost indifference to her, if you looked past the insults she had acquiesced in principle to their staying together longer term.

As for a life in the Spine of the World, that would be a most uncomfortable existence and perhaps she had not really thought it through. He had rather put her on the spot. It had been an impulsive suggestion to take her to Evereska. Maybe neither of their plans were very sensible, but they had plenty of time to come up with a better one. The important thing was that wherever they went next, they would go together. He actually found himself smiling.

"XAN! LOCK!" Jaheira bellowed at him. Just like that his smile was gone.

"Do we have to open a- all of them?" fretted Khalid. "There are s- s- so many p- places I would rather be."

"Arrow stop!" pleaded Rasaad, as Jaheira healed her from a particularly nasty fireball trap in a large vault full of stone caskets. "I am sorry for what I said before. Please don't run into any more traps, you are going to get hurt."

"Fine I'll stop," spat Arrow. "I've found what I was looking for anyway."

She was glaring up at a large marble tomb with a face that really could belong to the daughter of the Lord of Murder.

"I could strangle that idiot Tethtoril," Jaheira hissed to Khalid in a whisper. "Telling her 'whatever you find down there' about Gorion. What a stupid thing to say!"

Arrow stalked around Gorion's grave like an angry leopard but nothing, from the inscription to the reasonably accurate likeness of his effigy gave any clue as to what the monk had been talking about. She checked the steps of the raised dais it stood on and the ceiling above, but there was nothing.

"Xan, cast Knock," said Arowan in a soft, dangerous voice.

"W- What?!" yelped Khalid.

"No!" thundered Jaheira. "Absolutely not! We are not breaking into Gorion's tomb, I forbid it!"

Arrow threw her full weight against the slab and tried to force it open herself, but she was not strong enough.

"Rasaad!" she yelled, "If you are really sorry for before, then help me open this grave!"

The monk shook his head mutely with a horrified expression. Xan looked to Viconia, but she was paying no attention to the girl. While the others had been reacting to Arrow's efforts to expose the partially decayed corpse of her former guardian, the drow had been examining some of the other graves.

"That may not be necessary," the drow said smugly. "I think I've found what you're looking for."

One of the other tombs had been disturbed. Though not as new as Gorion's, its smooth polished stone had not yet begun to wear. It was easy to miss, being tiny compared to the others and tucked into a shadowy corner of the room. The occupant could not have been much more than a toddler. Carved on top of the marble slab, which had been placed neatly to one side, was the image of a small girl. She had chubby cheeks and a frozen impish smile. She looked disturbingly familiar. Inside, the tomb was empty, though it had been lined tenderly with pink velvet. Arrow brushed the dust from the inscription. It read;

_Here lies Imoen, daughter of Gorion and Alianna._

_Imoen, my precious girl. My light, my jewel, my life. Were the soul of a mortal man payment enough I would give my own to bring you back._

_Farewell my little angel. Love is a light that never dims._

Underneath this disturbing epitaph was the date. It was the same year Gorion had first brought her to Candlekeep. The blood began ringing unpleasantly in her ears. Arrow stood up stiffly and turned to her guardians. They were both staring at the grave with frozen expressions.

"Did you know?" she asked them. They looked at each other anxiously but neither Harper spoke. "ANSWER ME DAMN YOU! DID YOU KNOW?"

_Know? Know? Know?_ Her voice echoed through the hollow vaults of the catacombs.

"Not all of it," said Jaheira defensively.

"W- we didn't know that there w- were more than one of you," said Khalid, "Or that he had put that horrible curse on Imoen. But we did know that he had a d- daughter with one of the priestesses before she fell pregnant again by B- Bhaal. A d- daughter named Imoen, who died young. I'm not clear on the details but there was some kind of a- accident with one of his spells. The priests couldn't restore her."

"What he did for you all was selfless!" insisted Jaheira, pig-headedly determined to defend her friend to the last. "He couldn't create a soul out of pieces of yours without a body to put it in, so he defiled the resting place of his own daughter. To protect you!"

"Oh no, I don't think so!" cried Arrow, her voice rising hysterically. "You know something about that explanation never quite added up. He took a little piece from each of our souls, enough to make a complete new one, but it wasn't to protect us. It was to bring _her_ back!"

Jaheira bit her lip. She did not wish to believe it of Gorion, but the evidence certainly did seem to point that way. Perhaps her friend, in his grief and desperation, had managed to convince himself that he was protecting the Bhaalspawn children by hiding them all from the world and each other. Yet it had proven an ineffective way of keeping them safe. Most of his wards had perished violently within weeks of leaving Candlekeep.

"Only it wasn't her was it?" Arrow bellowed furiously. "It was a completely different soul! This new Imoen was her own person, and not the daughter he knew and loved. No wonder Gorion couldn't bear to have anything to do with her! It must have been like replacing his child with one of those doppelgangers!"

"I am sorry Arrow," said Jaheira meekly. "We should have told you and Imoen what we knew sooner, but things kept happening and it never seemed like the right time. I'm sorry."

It was strange and a little disconcerting to hear Jaheira apologise. All at once the anger and adrenaline drained out of her and she sat down heavily on the lip of the empty tomb. How in Ilmater's name was she supposed to explain this to Imoen?

"No I'm sorry," she said heavily. "To all of you. Especially you Viconia. I've been being an arsehole. This place isn't good for me, and we've learnt everything we needed to from it. Let's just get out of here ok?"

_Ok? Ok?_ Her voice echoed in the catacombs.

"No," she answered her echo in a voice so despondent that it might have come from Xan. "No, I really don't think I am."


	25. Viconia Tries to be Nice

The sky was a brilliant blue and dusted with light, fluffy clouds. Fields and farmland stretched out over the flat plains as far as the eye could see in all directions. Arrow stretched her arms, enjoying a light breeze against her face. Almost as soon as they had left Candlekeep and those dark, claustrophobic catacombs she had begun to act more like herself, much to Khalid and Jaheira's relief.

They were on their second day of walking to Durlag's tower. The first night, in her dreams, Freya had made good on her vow to 'kick Sarevok's arse,' which had helped to alleviate some of Arrow's fears. To her surprise though, she had found herself feeling rather sorry for her glamorous sister. Somehow the golden werewolf and her party had gained access to a palatial hall, where Sarevok was celebrating some kind of election victory. Gorion's killer had ended up fleeing, while the bodies of his doppelgangers piled up on the mosaiced floor.

Some of the lords of Baldur's Gate had drawn their own swords against the invaders. One of the last remaining doppelgangers was fighting a silver bearded man with a pointed face, who was finding his movement severely impeded by his ceremonial robes. Freya, in typical dazzling form, stabbed her current opponent in the neck before swinging to the older man's aid by cutting his foe in half.

"Sarevok's running, after him!" she yelled to her party, but she was distracted by someone calling her name.

"Freya!" a shrill cry rang from the assembled nobles. The blonde werewolf had looked up to see an elegant young noblewoman pushing her way through the assembled peers toward her. From the slightly nervous expression that had replaced Freya's usual cocky demeanour, Arrow surmised that this must be Skie. "You saved Daddy, how can I ever thank you?"

She threw her arms about the stunned warrior's neck and kissed her. Her father, the silver-haired man, whose hand had been half-raised to shake Freya's moments ago, was now looking as though he would like to slice _her_ in half along with the doppelgangers.

Arowan's heart sank like a stone and she cringed inwardly. She knew exactly what was coming next. The creatures had played the same trick on her in Candlekeep. Coran saw it too and hurled himself at the pair with a yell of warning.

Freya realized her mistake too late as Skie's dagger plunged through her stomach and up toward her heart. It never reached it. A fire dart, hurled from the back of the hall pierced Skie's head, and she dropped the hilt with a scream. The crowd parted to reveal the real Skie preparing to throw another. Seconds later the doppelganger's body was peppered by other weapons, including Coran's dagger and Skie's father's sword.

The werewolf sank to her knees and pulled out the dagger. She turned the red, slippery blade over in her hand almost thoughtfully, before it slid from her grasp and she collapsed onto the floor. Her blood ran in little rivers through the cracks in the mosaic.

"Healer!" Skie's father was bellowing.

"Come on, stay with me buddy," Coran was murmuring, pressing his delicate elfin hands over the wound to try and stem the blood flow. Apparently, they had not yet had an opportunity to undo the curse because he was still in female form. Freya was still blinking but she had a vacant expression and did not respond. "Come on Freya, this is no way for adventurers of our calibre to die! We should be eaten by a dragon at the very least!"

"Trust you to want to die being deep throated," Freya croaked from the floor. Coran grinned and sagged with relief, his hair flopping over his face. "I'm sorry, I let the bastard get away. Saffy's right, I'm a dumbass. Arrow, if you're watching this, if I die you have to kill Sarevok…"

"That is no way to talk! We will be the ones to place the righteous boot of justice upon Sarevok's ignoble rump. You and me and Boo and all our friends!" Minsc cried, slapping the injured woman on the shoulder with unhelpful force. She grimaced and passed out.

A brief glimpse of the aftermath, Freya in all her dazzling unconscious glory being fawned over by the great and good of Baldur's Gate, left a sour taste in Arrow's mouth. Yet this was heavily outweighed by the fact that Sarevok's downfall brought her one significant step closer to freedom. Soon all of this would be over and she could go and take her place as ranger of the Cloud Peaks. She smiled happily.

Viconia, on the other hand, was still a one-woman thunderstorm and Xan was as gloomy as ever. While Rasaad scouted ahead, the two elves trailed behind the rest of the group like a pair of dark clouds. The cleric in particular was in a foul mood. Arrow's attempt to say sorry had not, in her opinion, gone nearly far enough. Where she came from, any apology which was not also accompanied by grovelling, literal boot licking and copious material tribute was likely to earn the supplicant a round with the tentacle rods.

"We'll be rid of them soon," Xan was saying reasonably. "We'll leave just as soon as we've saved a bit of gold and figured out where we are going to go. Assuming of course that we are not all slain in the interim." The drow rolled her eyes, a habit that she was subconsciously picking up from Arrow. She had learnt to take her wizard's pessimistic predictions of doom with a large pinch of salt.

"Bah," she said by way of response.

"In the meantime you have to learn to get along with surfacers, at least superficially. Why not think of those two as a safe pair to go and practise on?" he suggested. "Go make small talk. Don't insult them. Try to be… nice."

Viconia stared up the path at the little family, Arrow and her two guardians, whom she had begun cruelly referring to as the Treehuggers. They really were revoltingly soppy, all three of them. The annoying, nagging crone, her pathetic husband and the Ilmatari rivvil who lacked the strength of character even to slay her own enemies and let them stay dead. Friends? The notion was risible. Tools on which she could practise manipulation? That she might be able to stomach.

"I'm looking forward to feeling the wind in my hair again," Arrow was saying to the Harpers idly. "The scarf is weighing my head down."

"Don't worry it's not for much longer," Jaheira told her reassuringly. "First thing when we get to Baldur's Gate we'll take a trip to Jessa's Hair Emporium. It only opened last year but it's where I got this one and it's the best I've ever owned."

"It is lovely," smiled Arrow, stroking one of the soft brown waves. "I'd never guess that it wasn't real."

Jaheira nodded. She was giving Arrow an evaluating sort of look. Although the ranger possessed a remarkable stoicism for one so young, she was likely to be emotionally vulnerable. To the point where the druid was deliberately dragging out their journey to Durlag's Tower in order to give her more time to recuperate out of doors. Anything to delay their journey to Baldur's Gate, where any number of predators might spy a young woman insecure about her appearance and attempt to take advantage.

"This will be your first time in a real city," said Jaheira seriously. "As a quiet girl from the countryside you have a sort of innocence about you that is going to stand out like a sore thumb."

"Great," snorted Arrow. "Thanks for that. Tell you what, if it makes you feel any better, I'll be extra-rude to any merchants we run into to compensate."

"It's not necessarily a bad thing," said Jaheira gently, ignoring the sarcasm, "But there are people who will wish to take advantage of your inexperience. Thieves, swindlers, merchants selling substandard goods… and men."

"Oh Ilmater _please no!_ " groaned Arrow, so loudly that Viconia broke off her conversation with Xan and meandered over curiously. The wizard smiled and gave her an encouraging nod. "Not this again!"

"Virginal innocence is very appealing to a certain type of man," Jaheira continued.

Without appearing to change his pace, Khalid somehow managed to seamlessly detach himself from the women and match pace with the wizard instead. The druid was so fixed on her prey that she barely noticed Khalid and Viconia switch places. Arrow noticed, however, and made up her mind to ask Khalid later how he had become so adept at dodging these sorts of conversations with his wife. That was some advice she would actually welcome.

"You don't even know whether or not I'm a virgin!" Arrow pointed out testily. Jaheira spluttered while Viconia let out a great, unflattering howl of derision. Arrow's face burned, but at least the men hadn't heard her. She kicked a little rock and sent it scuttering down the path. Then she readjusted her headscarf. Her hair was starting to grow back in a prickly dark-brown fuzz and it was itching.

Why should they be laughing at her about it anyway? While her faith did not have specific rules about extra-marital sex _per se,_ it was more discouraged than not, as it tended to result in suffering and unwanted children. She was not strict about this, though she was starting to think perhaps she should be. Her feelings for Hull and then Rasaad had done nothing but make her unhappy after all. She was in a pretty good mood right now however, and she was not about to let Jaheira spoil it with her favourite soap box topic: sex.

"Lucky for me I have a new strategy for dealing with these lectures," she smirked at Jaheira, and with that, Arrow stuck her fingers firmly into her ears. "LA LA LA!"

"Oh grow up girl!" snapped Jaheira.

"LA LA LA! I'M NOT LISTENING!"

"This is like having Xzar back!" the druid fumed. "I am through trying to help you with this!"

Arrow stopped singing and raised her bow above her head in cautious victory. If only she had realised that Jaheira would give up so easily, she could have spared herself round one of the sex education lessons! Jaheira shook her head, disgusted. Remembering Xan's words, Viconia nodded at the druid reassuringly and slipped a motherly arm around Arrow's shoulder. Sensing danger, Arrow resumed her singing.

"You have set yourself a challenge, choosing Rasaad for your first time," the drow remarked kindly. "Wouldn't you prefer to have a go with one who is already broken in?"

"LA LA LAAaaa... whaa...?"

"Jaheira, you have done a remarkable job of bringing Khalid under your heel," Viconia went on, clearly under the impression that she was giving the other woman a compliment. "Why not lend him to Arrow for a night or two to practise with?"

"WHAT?!" Jaheira choked, outraged, as Arrow blinked and tried unsuccessfully to wrap her head around what she was hearing.

"Trust me," said Viconia emphatically, "I have stumbled across Rasaad once when he was bathing in the river. A weapon the size of his does not belong in the hands of a novice. Unless she warms up on something of more modest proportions, your ward is likely to hurt herself."

"Nope. That's it. No more of these conversations," Arrow told the two older women firmly. "I have officially decided to become a nun."

"You should try sex before you reject it, and who better than Khalid? I am sure he is superbly conditioned to obedience in the bedroom," Viconia continued, undeterred. Even Jaheira, who Arrow had imagined to be unshockable in this department, was gaping at the drow like a dead goldfish.

"What in Faerun are you talking about?" the druid gasped weakly. Viconia raised a silver eyebrow and cleared her throat.

"' _No, Khalid! You're doing it wrong! Faster. Slower. A little to the left!_ '" Viconia barked in an unflattering but accurate imitation of Jaheira. " _'Oooooh oh, oh! That's better… Perhaps a constantly twitching tongue has its uses after all…_ '"

"Gross, gross, gross!" squeaked Arrow as Jaheira swelled with rage. The ranger turned on her heel and fled back up the path bringing her face to face with Khalid.

"EWWWW!" she squealed and fled up the trail after Rasaad, leaving the red-haired man patting his face, puzzled as to what about his appearance had provoked such an extreme reaction and unsure whether or not he ought to be offended.

"Well there's no need to be like that. I was only trying to help," Viconia said sniffily. "You surfacers are a strange people."


	26. Durlag's Tower

Xan was watching Viconia striding along the path in front of him with Jaheira and Arrow, hypnotized by her walk. Her hair swished behind her like a mercury waterfall, and probably just as poisonous. She had a confident swing to her hips and a curvy rear, not flat like Jaheira's or oversized like Arrow's.

He shot a sideways glance at Khalid and then considered Rasaad. Khalid often looked at his wife with a sort of dreamy half-smile while the rest of the world watched her in mild terror. Whereas the monk, to Xan's private amusement, had a clear appreciation for very large backsides. While the ranger would not satisfy many people's notions of conventional attractiveness, she certainly had _that_ niche market cornered. He'd seen the way the other man's eyes burned when he was walking behind her and thought no-one else was watching. Yes, beauty was very much in the eye of the beholder.

Oh horror! Why did he have to think of beholders? This cursed tower would turn out to be home to one now, he was sure of it.

Arrow suddenly let out a horrified squeal and came bounding down the path toward them, bringing her nose to nose with Khalid. For some reason her expression turned to one of mortified horror, and with a cry of 'ewww' so loud that it could probably be heard in Beregost, she turned and ran away again. Shame Rasaad was not walking with them, he would have appreciated watching that. What could possibly have spooked her so badly? Perhaps she was also thinking of beholders.

"We are practically that girl's parents!" Jaheira was growling at Viconia indignantly. "Surely even the drow have some limitations?"

From further down the trail the two women's words were drowned out by the crunch of stones under boots and the metallic banging of Khalid's pack against his armour. It was enough, however, for Xan to deduce that Viconia's peace-making efforts were faring poorly.

"Wh- what do you suppose that was all about?" the ginger man asked him. Xan cast him a sideways look. His recently sprouted head stubble did look silly but at least he was the right colour again. Having him cleanly shaved had been somewhat disconcerting.

"I thought perhaps Viconia might be able to make her peace with the Treehug- with Arrow and Jaheira," Xan replied glumly, "But it just seems to have made things worse. She needs to try to learn to get along with surfacers though, at least passably, or we'll be on the run forever."

Khalid looked at the elf searchingly. Xan's expression was as woeful as ever and though Rasaad was carrying half his pack for him he still seemed to sag under the weight. Yet there was something else when he spoke about Viconia. Even though his tone was dismal, it was like a light turning on behind his eyes. He stood up a little straighter and his manner became more animated.

"You r- really love her, don't you?" he said timidly.

"What makes you say that?" asked Xan. He was surprised Khalid was bringing it up. He rarely had feelings-talks with the rest of the party, which was precisely how he liked it. A few times when he had woken in the night, sweating and screaming from his memories of the Nashkel mines, Rasaad had asked him whether he wanted to talk about it. He had always replied with a flat 'no' and gone back to sleep. That was the extent of it.

"You said 'we'll' be on the run forever," said Khalid, "That makes it s- sound like you'd be willing to r- run with her."

"I'd rather it didn't come to that," said Xan with a resigned sigh, "But if this latest effort of hers with Arrow and your wife is anything to go by, that may be our doom."

By unspoken mutual agreement they dropped their pace because, judging by the angry tones and increasingly violent hand gestures, their partners were getting into a fully blown argument. Neither man had any stomach to catch them up and risk getting drawn into it.

Arrow meanwhile, in her haste to escape Viconia and Jaheira, had caught up with Rasaad. He perked up at the sight of her hurrying in his direction and she cursed inwardly. She did not really want to speak to him either. How was she supposed to get over him when he was always around? Perhaps if she kept her head down and hurried past toward Durlag's tower she could avoid a conversation with him. No, that wasn't going to work, he was bounding over the grass to meet her.

The landscape was flat in all directions bar the occasional tree, but for a second a flicker of movement in one of the branches caught her eye. There was a light breeze but not enough to have shaken the whole branch. A squirrel? No, the tree was unoccupied. A passing bird? There were no birds nearby. A flying insect? Well that was possible but… her heart beat a little faster and her pupils dilated as they did when she was hunting prey in the woods.

"Rasaad," she said carefully.

"Arrow," he said, "I am relieved to speak to you alone, we have not had a chance since Candlekeep and I-"

"How far are we from the tower?" she cut him off abruptly. There it was, that flicker of movement again.

"Close, we should be in sight of it any minute," he replied anxiously, "But we need to talk."

"Not now!" she snapped urgently. "I think we should get back to the others."

Whatever it was it was getting closer. Rasaad reached out and brushed her arm with his fingertips trying to get her attention. Her treacherous heart wanted to give it to him, but the last thing she needed now was a distraction.

There! A dent in the grass like something heavy was pressing it down and lifting to let it spring up again, and another! The fleeting footprints of an invisible stalker. Quick as a flash Arrow drew a fire arrow and pulled back her bowstring. Rasaad jumped back in alarm (it would not be the first time Arrow had shot him) but his surprise turned to puzzlement when he realised that she was aiming it at thin air.

"Stop right there Montaron I can see you!" she barked.

The footprints stopped their slow advance. Then they turned and started to sprint away. Without trying to sneak, the trampling of the grass was far more obvious and Rasaad saw it too. The strides were too large to be the halfling though. Instinctively, monk and ranger stood back to back, scanning the ground for more prints.

"That must have been Xzar!" said Rasaad.

"Or Edwin," muttered Arrow. "Which means that little goblin is still lurking around here somewhere waiting for his chance to backstab one of us. Damn!"

They retreated to the rest of the group, back to back and weapons ready. When the others saw them they also formed a ring facing out, though it was only when the two groups made contact that Rasaad was able to explain the purpose of their little dance. Wherever Montaron was, his sneaking skills far outstripped Xzar's and they were not able to detect him.

"I'm gobsmacked," said Arrow, "The useless little bastard has actually picked up some thieving skills."

Deciding that their best bet would be to wait for his invisibility to wear off, they made camp in a wheat field. The tall, unripe stems would provide cover for Montaron to sneak up on them, but they also made it nearly impossible for an invisible wizard to creep into line-of-sight undetected. Since they had stayed at an inn in Candlekeep they still had plenty of food leftover from the Cloud Peaks town which meant there was no need for Arrow to risk going off on her own hunting.

As darkness fell, Xan and Viconia took the first watch. Jaheira had been insistent that at least one of the watchers should have infravision, and one should be a melee fighter on any given shift. Sensing that tensions were running high, she avoided pairing Arrow with Viconia.

Cleric and wizard sat under the stars, watching for any unnatural bending of the wheat stalks but mostly listening for shuffles. Aside from a chilly breeze rustling the grasses and the chirping of nocturnal insects there was little to hear. After a while an owl hooted in the distance making both elves jump.

"I tried," Viconia snapped finally. Her arms were folded over her knees and she wore a petulant expression.

"It doesn't matter, don't worry about them," Xan reassured her. "Even without the cultural differences Jaheira isn't exactly the easiest person to get on with."

"It isn't just her. Arrow and her impotent male…"

"Why are you worrying about what Arrow and Rasaad think?" said Xan, leaning across and stroking her hair. "They're humans, they have the lifespan of mayflies." He knew his remark was a little callous, but it was also true, and besides he had not forgotten Viconia's initial interest in the muscular monk.

"Hmm," she said, and gave him a tight-lipped smile. At least she could rely on his loyalty. Perhaps she had exaggerated his unattractiveness before. When they had first met, in that alley in Beregost, she had been quite taken with him until he had spoiled it by disobeying her. That was fixable though. Belligerent males could be trained with patience and firm discipline. This one might be worth the effort.

She hadn't had an opportunity to find out yet. They had not had a chance to spend a night away from the others, and doubtless would not for some time. From what Jaheira, who had been raised in the region, had heard about the place, Durlag's tower would not be a wise place to wander far from the group. She would not be able to try him out until they were done with it. Still, no harm in warming up in advance and making a quick assessment of size.

Viconia pressed her mouth over his, startling him. She ran her fingers over his chest and despite the cold night air he was starting to feel quite strongly that they were wearing too many clothes. She danced her fingertips down teasingly and he stiffened, running his fingers through the hair he had been admiring earlier. It occurred to Xan that this was probably not a sensible thing to be doing with the Zhents and the Thayan hunting them in the dark. On the other hand they were almost certain to die in the accursed tower anyway, so why not enjoy what was left of their short existence?

Without breaking apart, she slipped a hand under his robe and brushed curiously through his breeches. Xan suspected that he was being not-so-subtly assessed for size, which morally was something he ought to object to. It was hard for him to feel too outraged about being objectified however, when she was feeling around through the wool cloth gauging length and girth. Whatever her pass/fail criteria, it appeared that he had made the cut and was being rewarded with teasing stroking motions up and down his shaft. It was impossible, given the situation, for this to go anywhere and the wizard knew he was in for a frustrating night once he returned to the privacy-lacking men's tent. 

It gave him a mind to retaliate, and he slipped his own hand lower, brushing her clit with his thumb. At the same time he explored lower with his forefinger until he found her opening and there traced little circles around the entrance. Viconia moaned and ground into him, trying to get him to press inside, but he slipped away, only to resume circling moments later. This made her growl with irritation and she nipped his lip. His kisses were rough and hungry, in a way that had taken the drow by surprise the first few times they had done it. She had predicted wet, feeble pecking from a surface elf. Gentle brushing and romantic clichés were what she had been led to expect from the 'fair folk'. Xan, by contrast, kissed like a man who genuinely believed that he only had minutes to live. It was, in its own way, far more exhilarating than anything she had experienced in the Underdark.

_Because you have feelings for this one,_ her heart nagged her, mockingly. _You're not a real drow anymore. You aren't one of them either. You are nothing but a helpless little fly Viconia, and I see you… I'm coming for you… you will not escape my web!_

Viconia broke away from Xan with a shrill scream. In the same instant that she realised that it was not her heart she was hearing but Llolth, a dagger slipped between her ribs.

"That's fer killing me ye pointy-eared hussy," Montaron snarled.

The others emerged hastily from their tents, where they had been sleeping in full armour in anticipation of something like this happening. Xan attempted, belatedly, to catch the halfling with a hold person spell but he was not fast enough and Montaron disappeared into the wheat.

Jaheira stayed behind to heal the cleric, as Arrow took off after the thief.

"No!" the ranger called to Khalid and Rasaad when they tried to follow her. "I need to track him alone, I can't hear him if you two are running with me."

She ran on, after the sound of retreating boots. At one point the footsteps stopped. The ranger skidded to a halt and shot close to the ground in the last direction she had heard him. There was a thud and a howl of rage and Montaron started to run again. He changed direction, doubling back and circling in an attempt to throw her off. Unluckily for Montaron, Arrow was more experienced than the incompetent young hunter he had known in Nashkel, and losing her was proving a tougher challenge than he expected. In the end he gave up and headed for the tree where his wizard companions had made their own camp.

He ducked behind them, yanking the arrow from his shin with a curse. Satisfied at having located her quarry, and seeing that she was outnumbered, Arrow shot two fire arrows into the air in quick succession. An answering yell told her that her own party were on their way.

"Edwin!" Arrow yelled, ignoring the Zhents. "This is ridiculous, Viconia is healed already and we outnumber you two to one. Call off your dwarf!"

" _Dwarf?!"_ spluttered Montaron. "You shouldn't have come after me alone. You're dead this time ranger!"

"Hold!" commanded Edwin imperiously. "Since someone has clearly gone to a lot of effort to train this gibbon to speak, by all means let us hear it. What is this about the drow? The witch was supposed to be his target."

"Dynaheir isn't even here you moron!" cried Arrow. "She was rescued from the gnoll keep by another party. You've been following us around for nothing!"

"No! That cannot be right!" cried Edwin, flustered. "Gorion's ward saved her, they were talking about it in every tavern in Beregost (the tedious conversations with a hundred drunken apes I had to endure to be certain). Her buffoon of a bodyguard went boasting about it to half the town."

"Gorion had more than one ward," said Arrow. Rasaad burst through the long grass, ready to gallantly defend her, and atone for his earlier bad judgement. He looked almost disappointed when he realised that his fists' services were not required. "Dynaheir was saved by Freya."

"Freya… yes that name does sound familiar… Candlekeep raised so many thuggish imbeciles, how is one to tell them apart?" muttered Edwin. "So, you mean that I have tolerated this odious thief and his halfwit friend all this time for no reason?"

"Excuse me but what exactly are we waiting for?" screamed Viconia furiously. "That little runt stabbed me in the back! Kill him already!"

"Ye stabbed me in the head ye evil underground mole-woman!" Montaron retorted.

"You kidnapped me and tried to murder me!" she retorted. "Why am I talking to you? Why are you still breathing? Xan! Why is he still breathing?"

"On it," replied Xan, hurling a cloud of silvery powder into the air. It spread out and fell like glittering rain, coating both parties. They were all sparkling like the night sky, rendering any further backstabbing impossible.

With a yell, Montaron charged them, dagger drawn. This seemed an almost suicidally stupid course of action but in the halfling's defence he had recently been shot in the head with an arrow and had his skull cleaved by a flaming sword. At this point there may have been limitations to what the temples could do in terms of restoring mental capacity. He never reached them though. Instead he froze, dagger raised and ready to strike, able only to spit out profanities through gritted teeth. The spell holding him had not been cast by Xan however, but by the Thayan.

"Not worth risking my own life over when the witch is not even here," Edwin muttered to himself. "Patience Edwin, patience. Follow the hyenas and they will lead you to the lion eventually."

"Can't you just go away?" sighed Arrow. "You're such a pain in the arse."

"I imagine that any pain in _your_ arse would pose considerable issues for you given its ridiculous size," the red wizard retorted spitefully. "Yes, Odesseiron. Wait for the barrel-bottomed baboon outside the tower and she will point you to your prey soon enough."

Jaheira rolled her eyes and moved the group on. This order took some enforcing in Viconia's case. The halfling who had only just stabbed her was immobilized and helpless. Their refusal to allow her to burn him alive, or even just take one of his ears as a little trophy, was more than the drow could bear.

Soon her murderous designs on the halfling began to morph into creative fantasies around finishing off her bossy leader instead. What would be the druid's worst way to die? Well it would have to involve Khalid. This was a daydream, rather than a plan, of course, but a faint smile played over Viconia's face as she imagined seducing the male half-elf. Yes... then Jaheira would hear his cum-noises from outside the tent. She imagined that instead of the usual  _'yes, yes, yes,'_ for Khalid it would be more like; ' _yes dear, yes dear, yes dear... SORRRRYYYY!'_

Then what? Well, the druid would come storming into the tent and see them together. That'd take her pride down a peg or two. Viconia would stand up with her mate's seed visibly dripping down her leg and slay the wretched woman with... what? A flaming sword? No, that was too quick. Something messier like a blunt object. Or maybe a poison! A nice slow one. Give Khalid a dose too and leave them there so that she could berate him even as they died. The drow chuckled to herself spitefully.

"We're here," Jaheira said finally and unnecessarily. It was not like one could miss the place. Her bark shocked Viconia out of her lovely fantasy and she scowled.

Durlag's tower loomed out of the mist, dark and forbidding. It had an aura of long decay, yet there were shadows moving around on the battlements. There was something menacing about it. A sort of unnatural coldness, as though it were sucking in heat from the surrounding landscape.

"Well it has been nice knowing you all," sighed Xan defeatedly, looking up at it with an expression of resignation.

The path leading to it was a narrow earthen ridge with fathomless vertical falls on either side. The edges were very smooth, as though they had been intentionally sanded to prevent anyone who survived the fall from ever getting out without aid.

After a while Khalid remarked that he had expected more resistance to their entry by now. This was soon explained as they came across a fallen suit of armour. It had been heavily mangled, possibly by a broadsword, and there were magical scorch marks on the surface.

"Someone got here before us," remarked Arrow, stepping over the remains of the fallen warrior.

"We are lucky they did," said Jaheira. "That was a battle horror, more than a match for our little party, and there were more than one of them. See those two down the path?"

"D- did Freya come this way?" asked Khalid.

"Not as far as I know," said Arrow slowly. "But it looks… familiar. I have this weird sense of déjà vu, but I can't explain it."

They crept nervously into the courtyard, weapons drawn. There had been fighting here not so long ago. Bones of animated skeletons, their weapons discarded, were scattered all over the courtyard. A partially decayed lizard was sprawled out over the steps.

"A b- basilisk!" cried Khalid.

It was indeed a basilisk, but a dead one, its eyes struck out. The shadows they had seen moving on the rear battlements were not present here. Again it looked as though their way had been cleared and Arrow's sense of unease deepened. She was sure she had seen this place before, but she was unable to place where.

When they got to the tower itself, the door had been rather unceremoniously ripped from its hinges and tossed to one side. The party ventured forth cautiously. They found themselves in a cold circular room. A terrible smell was leeching down from the floor above.

"Someone died here," said Jaheira, who had experience in these matters.

"Thorg," said Arrow.

"Who?" demanded Jaheira.

"Another of Gorion's wards," Arrow explained. "He died here this year. I saw it in a vision when I was sick in Beregost."

"So he has had plenty of time to get nice and ripe," sighed Jaheira. "We'd best take a look."

The party covered their noses with their sleeves and filed reluctantly up the stairs. Littering the floor were thousands of dead flies, though only a couple of living specimens remained. Maggots infested a pair of legs and a pelvis, which had oozed a great deal of fluid onto the floor, though like the flies they were mostly dead.

They were lying in front of a treasure chest. The lid was open and inside was an alluring gleam of gold and precious stones. Holding his breath, Khalid moved forward to peer at it. The red and green gleam of rubies and emeralds reflected off of his face. Suddenly the smell vanished and Arrow's eyes stopped stinging. One of their spell casters must have Zone of Sweet Air memorized.

"Do not touch it, it is trapped," warned Rasaad.

"You can detect traps but not disable them," said Viconia with her usual tact. "A useless skill indeed."

"I needed no special skill to detect this trap," the monk replied, "The empty armour and severed leg bones lying next to it gave it away."

"I wonder what h- happened to his top half?" frowned Khalid.

"I expect it was devoured by one of those basilisks," replied Xan gloomily. "No doubt it has had plenty of time to work up a fresh appetite. At least it will leave our legs, those are the parts we use most. Our very presence here would indicate that the half containing our brains is rarely utilized.

"His top half dusted," said Arrow heavily, remembering why this tower had felt so familiar. She bent down and turned over the unoccupied upper-half of the armour. "That's what happens, whenever one of us dies. There's no body, we just disintegrate in a cloud of powder."

"The top half turns to dust but the legs don't?" said Xan. "Odd."

"Not really," sighed Arrow. "My hair didn't dust when the Dark Moon monks shaved it off. My fingernails don't dust in my mouth when I bite them. Makes sense that the legs wouldn't dust either, provided he was still alive when they were severed. Only the bits that were still attached to him at the actual moment of death would have disintegrated."

"You seem remarkably calm about this," observed Xan archly.

"I am getting used to death," said Arrow with a grim shrug. "Seeing things like this doesn't affect me like it used to. I know that sounds terrible, but the alternative is I curl into a corner and gibber at walls."

They searched the room a little more. Rasaad found a trapped chair, two paintings capable of shooting darts from their eyes and a candle which, if lit, would fill the room with acid vapour. Unfortunately, while he identified the traps with ease, he lacked the requisite skill to disable them.

"Gamaz could have released the mechanical ones in an instant," he informed them regretfully, "But my own fingers are simply too large for this sort of work."

"I told you so," Viconia said to Arrow, wriggling her fingers. The ranger rolled her eyes and ignored her. However large Rasaad happened to be, it was not her problem. "We have to assume that the deeper in we go the more traps there will be."

"This tower is too dangerous to take on without a thief," said Jaheira.

"Should we send to Baldur's Gate for Imoen?" suggested Rasaad.

"No, that will take too long," said Arrow heavily. She knew what Jaheira was getting at, and unfortunately, she had to agree. They had a thief right here, waiting outside. They just had to think of a way to persuade him to help them.


	27. A Succubus in Durlag's Tower

_“I am the warrior’s bane,_

_I live in the darkness of his soul,_

_I bring him to his knees,_

_Trembling and weeping,_

_Unable to lift a hand in his own defence.”_

The fourth warden to the lower levels of Durlag’s Tower finished his speech and folded his hands over a spectral axe. Arrow groaned and rolled her eyes. The subterranean structure was bone dry yet the cold rivalled that of Gamaz’s temple atop the Cloud Peak mountains. Arrow’s hands were buried into the pockets of her tunic and she had wrapped her headscarf round and round her head instead of letting it hang loose. She’d had enough of being underground in Candlekeep, all she wanted was to get rid of the monsters threatening Baldur’s Gate and leave.

“Of all the pretentious bollocks!” she fumed, exasperated. “Can’t we just bypass the poetry and pointless tasks and get to slaughtering the doppelgangers already?”

 _“A reasonable request,”_ croaked the apparition unexpectedly. The other wardens nodded in agreement. _“The Durlag I knew would have approved of your goal to slay the remaining doppelgangers. I doubt not that he would have let you pass.”_

Arrow blinked and looked over her shoulder at the rest of her party. Xan looked suddenly hopeful and Jaheira just shrugged. The warden resumed his motionless position, armoured hands locked over the hilt of his axe. There was a long pause.

“So… are you going to let us pass without doing your daft quest?” she asked cautiously.

_“No.”_

“Of course not,” sighed Xan despondently. “We will moulder in this cursed place for all eternity.”

 _“Durlag did not allow us free agency or the ability to make independent decisions,”_ the dwarf spirit sighed resentfully. _“We just stand here century after century spouting the same mad poetry while his enemies spawn freely in the vaults below.”_

The ranger growled in irritation. Behind her, the party were starting to yawn. None of them had got a proper rest because of the Zhents attacking their camp, including Xzar and Montaron themselves. Not that in Xzar’s case this was too problematic since he was currently being dragged around on a leash by Edwin, bound and gagged, but they needed Montaron alert.  

After a brief discussion the group had come to the conclusion that nothing under the sun would ever persuade Montaron to help them of his own free will. They had killed him twice and intentionally crippled him on more than one occasion. At this point it was safe to say that their professional relationship was beyond salvaging.

Charm spells were also ruled out. The issue there being that there were three men, Montaron, Edwin and Xzar, to subdue all at once. It would be too much for Xan to keep all three of them magically controlled day and night for however long it took to clean out the tower. So unless they were prepared to kill the spares (which Viconia was more than up for, but Arrow was not) they would have to think of something else. It was Khalid who came up with the plan, and a surprisingly devious little plan it was.

They had found the Zhents lurking on the other side of the walkway leading to Durlag’s tower and sent Rasaad out to parley, on the basis that he could run away the fastest if the plan failed. The Zhents sent Edwin or rather, predictably, Edwin nominated himself.

“No,” Edwin had said at first, when Rasaad put their proposal to him. “I am not going in there again!” He shot a fearful look at Durlag’s tower.

“You have been in there before?” Rasaad enquired.

“I acquired an assistant who wished to loot the tower as payment for… a service he was supposed to render me,” said Edwin. He gestured at the remains of the fallen Battle Horrors. “Unfortunately while Thorg, like yourself, was suitably well-endowed when it came to raw musculature, he was somewhat lacking in intellectual capacity. He foolishly rejected our thief.”

“But this time you would have a thief,” Rasaad pointed out fairly, “And a much larger party.”

“True, true…” mused Edwin.

“You could wait outside the tower, wasting days,” went on Rasaad, “Which would prove pointless were we all to die. You would have nobody to follow to Dynaheir. Alternatively you could come with us for a generous share of the spoils, and better company than the mad wizard if I do say so myself.”

“Perhaps you are not as stupid as you look,” conceded Edwin, though he added under his breath: “Not that this would be a challenge.”

“So, do we have a deal?” asked Rasaad.

“Very well monk. Xzar and Montaron bound and the wizard gagged. I will deliver them to you within the hour,” he said carefully, “But tell me, have you considered what you will do should Montaron choose to call your bluff?”

“Montaron will assist us,” said Rasaad confidently. “He will not allow any harm to come to Xzar.”

He flinched internally. Threatening the life of the wizard to blackmail his friend felt like a deeply dishonourable thing to do. Moreover, though he and Arrow intended it as a bluff, he was certain that Viconia would be eager to follow through should the thief prove uncooperative. Edwin, however, seemed to be mildly impressed and sure enough within the hour he had returned to the edge of the walkway having captured his unsuspecting companions.

They explained the deal to Montaron. It was a very simple one. Do as we say, or Xzar dies. Permanently.

“Ye wouldn’t dare ye pussy little goody goody,” Montaron sneered at Arrow when she ripped his gag off. She thought it best not to ask Edwin _why_ he happened to be carrying handcuffs and gags around with him. Some things were best left unknown. “Ye’ve not got the guts.”

“Arrow is not the leader of this party,” said Jaheira, “I am. And if you don’t believe that I’d really murder Xzar then I’ll hand your ‘friend’ over to Viconia. I’m sure you don’t doubt that she would do it, seeing as she stabbed you through the head.”

Thus, they had ended up in the tower with the spectral dwarves and ridiculous puzzles that they were all too exhausted to solve. It was even colder below ground and despite the stench of Thorg’s semi-decayed lower half, they decided to return to the tower to make camp.

Edwin pointed out several extra traps that Rasaad had failed to spot including a bookcase that spewed books at the speed of arrows if you tried to take one, and an innocuous looking brick in the wall which had been smeared with arsenic.

“Have you been here before?” asked Arrow with a frown.

“Only part way up the tower,” said Edwin. “I made a deal with an unfortunate half-orc, Thorg. Half a half-orc now I suppose.” He prodded the disembodied legs with the tip of his staff, releasing a small cascade of dead maggots.

“Let me guess,” sneered Xan. “You were going to help him loot the tower and in return he’d help you murder your witch?”

“That was the general gist of it, yes,” sighed Edwin. “Only he proved exceptionally stupid even for a half-orc and sent away our thief. I concede that her endless prattle was deeply irritating, but she had her uses, as Thorg discovered when he tried to steal that gold. When he died, I took what little he had of value and returned to Nashkel to follow the witch’s pet oaf Minsc. And replace my own donkeys of course.”

He gestured graciously to Xzar and Montaron. The thief had been temporarily released in order to detect traps, while they took turns closely guarding Xzar. Now that they were to rest, both Zhents had been tied up again and muted once more. Montaron glared out from under his gag with lethal intent.

“So, this is the story of how you first met!” cried Arrow, pulling a disgruntled Edwin into a one-armed hug. “What a lovely story to tell the grandchildren on a cold winter’s night.”

“Yes,” said Edwin, wriggling free of Arrow like an eel. “I saw your rather fetching cleric murder the halfling and I offered to pay for his revival. When he came round he was only too eager to help me hunt you. They proved adequate companions once they had been deloused. However, I am most disappointed to learn that you do not have Minsc and Dynaheir with you.”

He said this in a highly accusatory tone of voice. Arrow laughed at him, earning her a strange look from Jaheira. She felt weird. Almost drunk. What in Faerun had possessed her to put an arm around Edwin’s shoulders?

“I am so sorry,” said Arrow, clutching her hands to her chest. “You have been stalking us all this time for nothing? However can I compensate you for the inconvenience?”

“Take me to Baldur’s Gate so that I might complete my mission and go home!” he demanded. Arrow gaped at him.

“That was sarcasm you twit!” she cried, pushing his arm playfully. “I was not seriously proposing that I help you in any way!”

“Unhand me mad woman,” he replied crossly. “If anyone is going to be pawing at me I’ll have it be the attractive cleric not the hairless wonder!”

For reasons that she was at a loss to explain, Arrow found this hysterically funny. So did Viconia, who was wrapping her arms about Arrow and laughing into her shoulder affectionately. The others frowned at them, puzzled, except Khalid who had come up behind Jaheira and started to discretely kiss her neck.

“Really Khalid is this the time?” she snapped. “Sleeping bags out everybody, I think some of us are a little over-tired.” She shook her head, it was feeling fuzzy. “Khalid come with me upstairs for a moment,” she said vaguely, “I want to take another look at that bookcase.” The Harpers went off up a level together. They took their bedrolls with them. Downstairs the others were trying to sleep but Montaron was making this rather difficult.

“Mmmph. MMMMPH!” the halfling gave a muffled cry. He started jerking, and screaming through his gag, trying and failing to wriggle free of his ropes. Edwin watched him dispassionately.

"I preferred our last halfling thief,” he remarked. “Alora her name was. Pity Thorg sent her away. Especially for him." Edwin chuckled cruelly.

"What sort of idiot would send away his thief right before attacking this death-trap of a tower?" scoffed Viconia, scooting nearer to Xan.

 "Well quite," agreed Edwin. "But he complained that he needed silence to think (a difficult task for Thorg, it took all his concentration to tell a stone from a rabbit) and Alora had a tongue that never stopped wagging."

 "I'm surprised he put up with you then," muttered Xan.

 "Mind you," added Edwin wistfully, "Her big mouth wasn't always a bad thing. Provided you could supply something equally large and energetic to fill it with."

 "Like what?" asked Rasaad innocently. Viconia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

 "Do not start missing Alora, Odesseiron," the red wizard berated himself under his breath. "She was not a suitable consort for a Red Wizard of your pedigree. That magnificent drow on the other hand... even the Zulkirs would envy you with her on your arm..."

 "I can hear you," snarled Xan, warningly. He wrapped a possessive arm around Viconia who buried her face into his hair, laughing. Wizard and cleric each also felt vaguely light headed but there was no sense that anything was wrong. Everything was fine. Retrospectively, Xan would find it ironic that his unusual lack of fear at this time was a good reason to be frightened. Right then and there however, all he could do was slip an arm around Viconia and grin.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Khalid laid out the bedroll and when Jaheira settled herself beside him he automatically began to work his hand South to please her. To his mild surprise the druid caught his wrist. She had been mulling over Viconia’s imitation of her nagging Khalid in bed. Though the drow’s impersonation was somewhat exaggerated, it was also uncomfortably based in truth and the druid had a mind to change that in future. At least some of the time.

She had planned this for their next visit to an inn. This was hardly an appropriate romantic setting, and yet she felt an oddly irresistible urge to do it now. She pushed her confused husband back onto the bedroll and straddled him, grinding with her hips and leaning down to kiss him. Khalid’s arms shot up to steady her, holding her waist. She flicked her tongue into his mouth and his grip tightened.

Khalid pushed his hands up to slip off her tunic. She sat up and pulled it off the rest of the way and he grinned appreciatively. He sat up, one hand returning to her waist, the other cupping her breast and tracing circles around it. Suddenly, he flipped her onto her back, almost winding her and thrust against her through their clothes with a low moan. She raised an eyebrow. Her husband was not normally this sexually aggressive. She found she didn’t mind, but this wasn’t her plan for tonight.

Without warning she flipped them both over, pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. Then she tugged his trousers down past his knees. Khalid looked suddenly nervous, but also extremely hopeful.

“Er… J- Jaheira? W- what are you? Mmm…” he said. He closed his eyes and smiled ecstatically, unable to believe his luck. She had taken his tip into her mouth and was swirling her tongue in circles around him. Jaheira rarely did this. He’d gotten the impression that she didn’t enjoy giving head as much as receiving it, and he would never ask her to do something she didn’t like. Even if he did like it. A _lot._

She seemed to be enjoying herself now though, taking him fully into her mouth and flicking her tongue over him as she did it. One of her hands reached up to brush his nipple teasingly while the other played with the lower part of his shaft. It was difficult not to cry out, but he did not want the others to think they were being attacked and come running up the stairs to help. His hand clenched and unclenched against the bedroll and his breath came out in increasingly rapid gasps.

He held himself still, not wanting to thrust into her mouth and make her gag. It was difficult not to though when her tongue, lips and hand were stimulating him so intensely. He found his hand hovering over her head, desperate to push deeper inside but conscious of her comfort. Finally he could bear it no longer and withdrew. He guided his wife up so that she was straddling him again.

“Jaheira, p- please?” he gasped. As usual he was too shy to tell her directly what he wanted and the druid had to guess. She kissed him and lowered herself onto him, taking his length inside her. This turned out to be the right thing, because Khalid lost all self-control. He was bucking at such a rapid pace that Jaheira had to grip him tightly with her thighs and steady herself with both hands so as not to fall off.

“Khalid, I… Khalid I love you,” she managed. The friction between her legs and the way her body was being tossed about over him made it hard to speak.

“I love…” he panted, but got no further as his final wave of pleasure overtook him and his body started to contract.

With a final strangled cry, he came and collapsed down instantly, panting and exhausted. Jaheira slipped off of him and flopped down next to him, out of breath. After taking a minute to recover, they slipped their clothes back on, just in case any of the others should come up to find them, and curled up together to sleep.

Back down the stairs on the lower level of the tower, Rasaad was sleeping solidly. Considering where they were and what they had been through, the monk found himself caught in a surprisingly pleasant dream. Two sets of hands were massaging his neck and shoulders, and he was relaxing, eyes closed. After a while one of the women, he was sure they were female, bent down to kiss his neck, while the other traced the tattoos on his neck with her finger.

He smiled drowsily, knowing that he was dreaming but feeling no desire to wake up. He better had soon though, he thought, as the woman kissing him stroked her hand down his chest toward his stiffening cock. The others were sleeping all around him and it would be deeply embarrassing if he made noises in his sleep that gave away the nature of his dream. That, and the options for cleaning up would be limited.

Reluctantly, the monk forced his eyes open, and was not truly sorry when he didn’t wake up after all. The woman stroking his tattoos was Arowan. She was smiling at him. He hadn’t seen her smile at him in what felt like forever. Even if it wasn’t real it was comforting. Flickering candlelight played off of her freckles and her dark eyes were smouldering. She moved her soft hands in gentle loops over his muscles with an appreciative sigh.

The other woman was Viconia. Were this real and not a fantasy, no doubt the way she was playing with the small clothes between herself and his manhood would be distressing Arrow. As it was, she simply lay down on the bedroll beside him, stroking his chest and letting the drow get on with it. His eyes drifted sleepily over the inviting curve of her hips, and his hand instinctively followed. Arrow smiled and shuffled closer to him.

He would feel guilty about this dream in the morning, but sleeping-Rasaad was rather less inhibited than his waking counterpart. Besides, in his defence, he had tried to wake up and failed. This dream was happening anyway, might as well enjoy it.

Noticing the attention that Arrow was getting now that he had woken up, Viconia broke off and lay down on the other side of him. She tilted his head back and kissed him. Submitting totally to his subconscious, he kissed back. Her tongue flickered over his lips and he parted them to let her in, reciprocating inexpertly. Arrow started nuzzling his neck, draping herself over him and he groaned quietly.

A hand stroked up his shaft unexpectedly, sending his body into a spasm of shock and pleasure. He had thought that both women’s hands were occupied further up and had not been anticipating the touch. He sat up with a gasp, shivering, and could not believe his eyes.

It was Edwin.

Rasaad’s scream was so loud and so shrill that at first the rest of the party, startled from their sleep, thought that he must have fallen victim to one of Durlag’s traps. It also seemed to shock Arrow and Viconia out of whatever spell had been placed upon them. Arrow sprang back in alarm, caught her ankle in the bedsheets and stumbled into a pile on the floor. Viconia’s response was to smack the monk so hard that it left his ear ringing for hours afterward.

Jaheira and Khalid, still semi-clothed, seized their weapons and sprinted down the stairs.

“Ahahaha!” came a tinkling demonic laugh. They looked around to see a beautiful stranger poised in the middle of the room, smirking at them.

“What did you make me do fiend?” howled Edwin.

“I didn’t ‘make’ you do anything,” the woman laughed. Her face was a picture of pretty malice. “I simply removed your inhibitions. None of you were doing anything that part of you didn’t want to.”

“S- s- succubus!” bellowed Khalid, drawing his sword.

“Oh n- n- now no n- n- need to be like that,” she smiled, imitating Khalid’s stutter. “You wouldn’t believe how boring it has been, trapped in this dreary tower year after year with nothing to do. Surely you can forgive me my little joke?”

Khalid responded by charging her before she had even finished her sentence. He swung his blade as hard as he could but it barely dented her and she teleported away, though she had stopped laughing.

“How rude!” she snapped. Her eyes flashed unnaturally and Khalid dropped his sword looking dazed.

“S- s- sorry dear,” he replied meekly. The succubus held out her hand graciously and Khalid kissed it. Jaheira let out a hiss but before she had time to act, the others attacked.

The imprisoned succubus suddenly found herself engulfed in flames from her furious victims. Fire arrows from the ranger, Viconia’s burning sword and Rasaad’s flaming fists pummelled her even as she screamed to the freshly charmed Khalid for help.

“Don’t you dare Khalid!” Jaheira thundered.

Edwin, whose face was burning with shame at having been about to jerk off the monk let fly with a barrage of magic missiles. From a gap in between the swinging arms and weapons the succubus managed to catch his eye and he turned on his companions.

“Khalid if that sword of yours comes anywhere near me you will never hear the end of it!” Jaheira promised him. The poor fighter was twitching as though he were having a fit. He seemed to be fighting the curse, simultaneously trying to pick up his weapon and force himself not to.

The Zhents were still bound. Montaron, who genuinely had no sexual interest of any kind in any of the party (he found what he would term ‘excessive height’ deeply repulsive) was unaffected by the succubus and had been trying to warn them. Now he was rolling over and over to get out of the firing line and was already out of sight and halfway down the stairs. Xzar, true to form, was watching the carnage in eager fascination. It turned out that despite numerous head injuries, Monty was the wiser of the two.

Still somewhat cowardly, even when charmed, Edwin turned on the party member least able to defend himself. Xzar’s eyes widened in alarm as a blinding colourful rush of magic engulfed him. He let out a muffled scream of agony as the spells struck him one by one.

“No!” bellowed Jaheira, but it was too late. Xzar slumped over and the light faded from his mad eyes. “Damn!”

The succubus wailed hideously as she succumbed to the combined fury of Arrow, Viconia and Rasaad. As she fell, her body combusted, her spirit doubtless returning to whatever hell plane had spawned her. Perhaps she had provoked them into doing this intentionally. In a sense they had freed her.

The three companions, who moments ago had been nestled together in a sort of pre-threesome stood around the smouldering pile panting. Directing all their furious embarrassment at the succubus had delayed the moment when they would actually have to face each other. Rasaad could not meet either woman’s eyes, while Viconia looked like the only reason she had not attacked them was because she could not decide whose bottom she wanted to thrust her flaming sword up first.

“Selune forgive me!” moaned Rasaad.

“What happened?” asked Jaheira sharply.

“Nothing,” said Arrow between gritted teeth, “I suppose we have Edwin to thank for that.”

“Yes, I er… did that intentionally to break the charm!” said Edwin hastily. Both he and Khalid regained their senses with the death of the succubus, but the Thayan was far more concerned with protesting his heterosexuality than the fact that he had murdered Xzar. “You are fortunate, ladies, that as a Thayan of superior talent I am immune to the influence of that demonic being.”

Jaheira said nothing. It was occurring to her that the succubus had performed her little charm for her own entertainment. Which meant that she and Khalid had not enjoyed any privacy last night. She felt an uncomfortable mixture of embarrassment and violation.

“I am so sorry,” begged Rasaad. “I thought I was asleep. Even so I never should have-“

“Filthy rivvil!” howled Viconia, making Rasaad flinch. Arrow thought this was a bit rich, considering that in the not-so-distant pass the drow had come on to him very physically without the excuse of a charm spell. Viconia, however, seemed to possess something of a selective memory.

Arrow was scarcely less angry with Rasaad herself, though she was trying not to be. It was, after all, not his fault. If anything he had more reason to be angry since, under the influence of the succubus, it was she and Viconia who had started touching him and not the other way around. Still, feelings are not always rational, and she felt herself burning with rage.

“Let’s move on,” she muttered. If Freya were watching this, she bet her ‘sister’ would be laughing her pretty head off.

She looked up at Viconia, to see that the cleric had fixed her with a poisonous expression. Arrow realised that, unintentionally, her own face looked equally hostile. Xan, on the other hand, just looked sad.

‘ _All I did was remove your inhibitions,’_ the succubus had said.

So that was the truth of it then. Xan had already known, unambiguously, that Viconia found Rasaad physically attractive. And deep down, Arrow had known that it was reciprocated. Having it confirmed in this way wasn’t a nice feeling though.

 _‘It doesn’t matter,’_ she told herself. _‘He wasn’t yours anyway. It doesn’t matter.’_

This did not make her feel the least bit better. The party fought their way through the tower in subdued silence. Montaron did his job adequately disarming traps, and the accumulating treasure seemed to offset Edwin’s grumpy mood. Xan was walking as far away from Viconia as he could, much to the drow’s irritation. She had not been responsible for hitting on Rasaad this time, and even if she had been she would not have considered herself to be doing anything very wrong.

Rasaad, on the other hand, was beating himself up mercilessly. He had done something unforgivable to Arrow and Viconia, albeit not voluntarily. How could he ask them, or Selune, to forgive him? He vowed that he would never, ever submit to such terrible urges again. Not even in his fantasies.

“Rasaad,” said Arrow, stepping up beside him as they watched Montaron angrily tampering with yet another puzzle. The monk immediately launched into a grovelling apology but that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “The succubus took away our inhibitions. You were into it with me but horrified by Edwin.” There was a pause. Rasaad swallowed, fearing he knew where this was going. “You were kissing Viconia.”

“Yes,” he replied unhappily. Apart from some brief experimental fumbling with Sixscar when they were teenagers at the monastery it had been his first real kiss. It was not how he would have liked it to be to say the least.

“So, what? You’re attracted to both of us?” asked Arrow.

“Erm,” replied Rasaad. The honest answer to this would be ‘yes’ but he sensed that this response would go down like a lead balloon. ‘Yes, but I like you more,’ was also true but scarcely much better. Finally he settled for an honest, “I have no interest in a romantic relationship with Viconia, I swear it.”

“Good,” said Arrow. “That is… I mean… She’s with Xan! So, if you were interested in her that would be unfortunate. That’s why it’s good. That you’re not.”

“Indeed.”

“Exactly.”

“I am not romantically interested in anyone,” said Rasaad. “I have fully committed to returning to the monastery. What happened last night makes me more certain than ever that this is the correct course.” Arrow felt as though he had knifed her through the stomach but she tried not to let it show on her face. A lump was rising uncomfortably in her throat but she wrestled it down.

“I wouldn’t want this to make things awkward between us,” she said.

“Nor would I,” said Rasaad, relieved. “Your friendship means a great deal to me. More than you know.”

There was a click and a curse, and Viconia rushed forward to heal Montaron for the eighth time that day. On this occasion he had successfully disabled the trap but a sharp metal spring in the mechanism had wriggled loose and flicked into his eye. They had neglected to inform him of Xzar's death, instead Edwin and Xan were taking it in turns to operate him like a great lurching puppet. So far Monty had not noticed.

Arrow breathed in and out slowly. She was glad that she and Rasaad had talked. Oddly she felt better now than before they had left Candlekeep. That said, she was still planning to get shot of him as soon as they reached Baldur’s Gate. There was a saying that absence made the heart grow fonder, but in her experience it just made it grow forgetful. Which in this case was precisely what she longed for.

Far away, on a ship that stank of wet dog and cow piss, Eric awoke with a start. He was disappointed to discover that he was still alive. It had been an unusually horrible dream. Any dream featuring one of his sisters was guaranteed to be violent and unpleasant but in this vision, had the succubus had her way… It had been a horrifying near miss. Non-consensual sex was something he would not wish on anybody, except possibly Baeloth. No, not even him. Though he wished a great many other things upon the drow, starting with a hideously violent death and ending with eternity in one of the more rundown neighbourhoods of the nine hells.

The ship gave an enormous lurch, and a splattering thud hit the deck above. There was a sound of men shouting and feet hammering frantically. Eric had no idea what was going on and he was past caring. He had nothing left in his stomach to vomit. The Hooded Man had taken away the last of his potions as they boarded and hurled them over the side. Were he not chained by his ankle to the cabin floor, Eric might have hurled himself into the ocean after them. He had long since hurled everything else. Nausea and dizziness from withdrawal had floored the man long before seasickness could even get a look-in.

He huddled in the corner, sweat pouring down his forehead and shivered. Though simultaneously too hot and unbearably cold, headachy and miserable the wizard appeared to be voluntarily making himself suffer more. The Hooded Man had wisely removed all objects with the potential for lethal sharpness from his reach but Eric, through sheer persistence, had prised a large splinter from the wooden floor and was scratching it repeatedly over his arm. Small beads of sticky blood dripped into the timber. It was oddly satisfying. There would be a stain soon.

The Hooded Man had been unable to determine why Eric kept doing this. Truth be told, Eric himself was not really sure why he was hurting himself. Certainly he did not want to die. Or more accurately, he did not want to face the afterlife. As a Bhaalspawn he was guaranteed an eternal place in the Abyss upon his demise. He had tried to escape this fate by taking an apprenticeship with a necromancer in Thay, much to Gorion’s dismay, in the hope of becoming a lich. This had ended in his capture and enslavement in Baeloth’s fighting pits. He sliced his arm again, harder, trying to force himself not to think about that.

“Fuck the lot of you,” he addressed the entire pantheon of Faerun blasphemously under his breath. “None of this had to happen. If just dying were an option…”

He dropped the splinter, crossed his arms over his legs and buried his face into them, overpowered by a fresh wave of misery. As the Sea Bitch Umberlee flung the ship like a cat tormenting a mouse, Eric sobbed, caring little whether they sank of floated.

The face of the paladin swam in front of him, as it did every time Eric closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he chanted to himself, rocking back and forth like a madman. Finally, he keeled over sideways, crying in a ball on the floor. Wishing to be anyone else, anywhere else. For peace, darkness and for existence to cease.

“Still so sad?” came a cold voice from the other side of the cabin. “Aren’t you excited to finally meet your sisters?” Eric curled deeper into his ball of self-loathing, like a hedgehog only all his spines were pointing inward. “No. I suppose not. Still it won’t be long now. We’re due to dock in Baldur’s Gate tomorrow. I have sent word to Freya, she will be expecting us.”

“Why would you do that?” gasped Eric, suddenly petrified. Guilt was strong, but where Eric was concerned, fear could always trump it.

“Why not?” asked the Hooded Man indifferently.

“She’ll kill me!” howled Eric. The Hooded Man cocked his head to one side and looked at the young necromancer appraisingly. He was a talented wizard, and fighting in the Black Pits had made him more so. On the other hand those numbing potions had done a number on his constitution. He was weak, sick and suffering from withdrawal though these things were nothing compared to the malady in the boy’s mind. Freya, from what Eric had told him and what he had prised from the sailors, was at least equally powerful. It would be an interesting match.

“Yes, that is a distinct possibility,” he said to the trembling Bhaalspawn. “But what will you do about it I wonder?”

 

 


	28. Tension and Tapestry

"Xan?" murmured Arrow, trying not to draw attention from the others.

"…don't know why I didn't go home as soon as I escaped the Nashkel mines," the wizard sighed dully. "I mean they could hardly have said I hadn't tried to complete their cursed mission. I was captured, I was tortured, I _died!"_

"Yes Xan, I know," replied Arrow patiently, "And on the subject of dead wizards…"

They had finally retrieved the silly random objects that the dwarven guardians demanded, at which point their response had been to attack them. In fairness they were very apologetic about it. Durlag had not permitted them free-will so they were bound to carry out their ridiculous orders for all eternity. Once defeated they allowed them to pass, only to resume their posts ready for the next party to come along. Arrow was rapidly coming to the conclusion that this Durlag must have been a few eggs short of a hen coop, still at least they were making progress.

"And then, as if the whole business weren't bedevilled enough, you let a drow join the party," Xan carried on accusingly. The wizard would need to rest again soon. He was bedraggled, and a large gash from one of the dwarf guardians' axes was scabbing over on his pale face. The cold was starting to get the better of him too. He had buried his hands into his pockets and his nose was turning red.

"You know I'm not exactly thrilled that Viconia and Rasaad kissed either," said Arrow tersely, but quietly. They were bringing up the rear of the party as Rasaad and Montaron went on ahead to scan for and disable traps. Viconia and Jaheira were following close behind in case hasty healing was required. Khalid and Edwin lined up in the middle to deal with monsters attacking from in front and behind. "But the succubus's influence was pretty strong stuff. I was all over him too, remember?"

Xan shot the human a condescending glance. Arrow's idea of what constituted being 'all over' someone was amusingly vanilla. It was nothing short of miraculous that Rasaad noticed her at all with Viconia around. No wonder the ranger didn't seem too offended by the incident.

"We're clear!" called Jaheira. "Nothing down here but these diaries."

"' _Islanne my w- wife I love you s- still, t'was just your form they made me k- k- kill,'"_ read Khalid. "Sounds like d- doppelgangers to m- me."

"If it's doppelgangers again do try not to shoot _me_ this time," Viconia hollered up at Arrow. The last time they had encountered the shapeshifting creatures, the ranger had mistaken her for one and attacked. Despite also having a bad track record herself when it came to friendly-fire (she had once stabbed Khalid in the back) the drow had not forgiven her for it. Arrow noticed Xan's lip twitch as though he were about to smile, before he remembered that he was mad at Viconia.

"Onward to futility I suppose," he sighed. "Lone doppelgangers usually just lurk around waiting to trick passing meat. Something even more powerful must be co-ordinating them to take over the tower. Doubtless we will meet it shortly. We are all dead men."

"Well one of us is literally a dead man, and you've had him walking into the same wall for the past ten minutes!" hissed Arrow.

"What? Why didn't you say something?" snapped Xan, too distracted by how angry he was with Viconia to realise that she had been trying to. Arrow rolled her eyes at him. Xan focussed his energies and redirected Xzar to descend the stairs. This took all his concentration. Steps were difficult for the lurching corpse to navigate and Arrow had to discretely guide poor lumbering Xzar to the level below.

This new dungeon had an odd smell to it. While the first level of the basement had been dry and cold, the air in this one had a damp and almost sulphuric quality. There were four doors but only the one to the South was open. The party ventured cautiously, with Rasaad pointing out traps and Montaron disarming them with a constant stream of muttered threats.

Inside was the oddest art gallery any of the party had ever seen. Presumably the original had belonged to Durlag. There were a number of stout statues of dwarven warriors, their long beards braided into elaborate plaits and weapons clutched in their stone gloves. Paintings along the edge of the gallery had been slashed by long claws, but traces of their former beauty was still detectable. Covered in cobwebs in one corner was a marble statue of a young human with doe-like eyes playing a harp.

Yet the doppelgangers who had slashed the paintings had occupied this room and remade it in their own sinister image. They had added statues of themselves and of their natural allies. Ogres, a werewolf and demonic creatures. In the centre of the room was a rug and woven into it was the hunched figure of a doppelganger. Every so often its eyes darted to the statues of the harp player and the werewolf.

"The statues are clean," said Montaron at length. "I suppose I need to tell ye morons not to tread on the carpet with the moving eyes? It's a magical trap." He added with a cunning glint in his eye, "If ye untie Xzar I bet he could purge the dark magic for ye. Knows a thing or two about evil spells does Xzar."

"Or we could just not step on it," snapped Jaheira impatiently. "But we appreciate your helpful suggestion."

The party began to inspect the two statues for hidden switches, poking their fingers into every stone orifice, and wiggling the werewolf's teeth. It did not take them long to find that one of the harp-player's fingers could move to stroke the instrument's stone strings. With a strum of melody the Western door opened. The werewolf took them a little more prodding. In the end it was Jaheira with her knowledge of natural lore who discovered that you had to scratch behind its ears to open the door to the East.

They explored the East room first, carefully because the dust was irritating their lungs. The colours on the faded velvet bed and the marble-cut furniture suggested that this squalid pit had once been very grand indeed. A short dwarven skeleton lay with its skull resting on the pillow. It did not seem to have put up much of a fight. Perhaps it had died in its sleep.

In a chest at the foot of the bed, Xan found a smooth grey pebble with a glowing symbol etched into it. He recognized it as a dwarven runestone, usually used to control doors and bridges. A sort of magical key to unpickable locks. It probably controlled the door to the North. As soon as he laid hands on it, a dwarf appeared in the room with them. He strode up to Arrow, arms open wide, but there was a mocking smile on his face.

"Islanne my love, your hair is down," he said.

"Are you trying to be funny?" asked Arrow, nonplussed. She was not in the mood to be mocked about her involuntarily shaven head. Not while she was still trying to suppress the memory of Rasaad lip-locked with their cleric, running his fingers through her beautiful silver hair. She was trying so hard not to be angry. She had no _right_ to be angry. Yet she caught herself hoping that the doppelgangers would morph into Rasaad and Viconia again just so that she could get to shoot them.

"Islanne, you smell ssso sweet. You smell of Thisss…"

"I smell of piss?" Arrow raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Well, whatever floats your boat I suppose."

She raised her bow casually and shot it in the eye. The creature stood no chance against such a large group of adventurers. The spellcasters had barely uttered a word of incantation before it's purple-grey blood was pooling around their feet.

The party left it where it fell and proceeded cautiously through the newly opened West door, leaving a squelching trail of bloody footprints. This chamber seemed to have once been a school room. Instruments, mining manuals and practise fighting dummies were strewn about. It was long abandoned by all but the most determined of spiders. As Viconia put the eight-legged dungeon creeps to death with unusual savagery even by her standards, Arrow picked up a little scrap of paper.

" _Too young to fig-hut except to fall,"_ she read, frowning.

"Fight," corrected Xan discretely.

"Fuernebol!" It was Durlag again. Arrow raised her bow. "Put down your weapon and play me something mournful would you?"

Arrow fired and struck the dwarf in the shoulder. She was getting tired and it was not one of her better shots. It seemed to do little but provoke the monster.

"Shoot your own father, would you?" hissed Durlag. "Sstupid boy!"

As the others cut down the doppelganger, Arrow froze. A narrow corridor led off of the school room, looping back to the room with the carpet. In it lay the pale remains of another skeleton. Even for a dwarf it was very small. She felt cold inside at the sight of it and sad. How frightened that poor little boy must have been. She wondered if he had screamed for his Daddy. It was a horrible injustice, this innocent life so needlessly cut short.

She stepped around the tiny corpse, respectfully making the sign of Ilmater as she did so. Yet as the others filed after her there was a sickening crunch and something in Arrow snapped.

"Seriously Viconia?" she hollered, rounding on the cleric. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What am I supposed to have done now?" Viconia snapped back, tired, drained from casting multiple healing spells and equally angry.

"A child, a dead child, and you couldn't even be bothered to step around it? You are a sick cow, you know that, right?"

"I didn't see it in the dark!" replied Viconia crossly, "And why does it matter? It's not like I hurt it, it's dead!"

"Oh, here's fun," grinned Montaron, trying to catch Xzar's eye as they filed back into the carpeted room. Xzar didn't respond. Montaron shrugged but he had been disarming traps non-stop all day. He was too tired to care about his anti-social companion.

The party watched on helplessly as cleric and ranger got closer and increasingly up in each other's faces. They had not gone so far as to physically threaten each other yet, but both had their weapons in their hands.

"Please, do not blame Viconia for what happened earlier," Rasaad pleaded with Arrow, "It was my fault."

"Arrow has a point, stepping on dead children is a bit of a no-no on the surface," Xan tried to diffuse Viconia, "Let's just chalk it up to cultural differences and move on."

"This has nothing to do with you!" Arrow snarled at Rasaad.

"Oh, it blatantly does," purred Viconia, ignoring Xan. "I didn't see _my_ male locking lips with _you_. I warned you, you should have nipped that sort of behaviour in the bud. Too late now!"

A nasty glint was showing in Arrow's eye. Viconia's own red eyes narrowed calculatingly. She had always taken it as a given that the ranger would never intentionally hurt her, but perhaps she had underestimated her. At this distance she could easily knock the bow from the ranger's hands before she even had chance to raise it, but she wanted to see what the girl would do. If she were willing to try to shoot a rival in cold blood, then perhaps she might be able to respect her after all.

She never found out. At that moment Montaron erupted in a howl of fury and outrage. They turned, followed his gaze and let out a collective groan. Xan had been so distracted by Arrow and Viconia's argument that he had not been paying careful enough attention to where he was directing Xzar. The dead necromancer had wandered onto the doppelganger rug, which was now consuming him feet first.

"How long must I weather this storm of incompetence?" muttered Edwin.

Montaron looked as though he would quite like to attack the lot of them, but since he was unarmed and Xzar was disappearing fast, (the woven doppelganger having reached his knees,) the thief lunged forward to pull him out.

This was a mistake. Preferring live meat, the doppelganger released Xzar who, without the benefit of his lower limbs, toppled stiffly onto the rug. It then latched its jaws around Montaron's feet and bit them off. The halfling howled in horror and agony. Blood poured from his ankles but as it hit the carpet instead of staining it, it became part of it. A growing pool of blood seemed to have been woven in as part of the picture, looking like it had always been there. Arrow sprang forward to help but found herself in Khalid's iron grip.

"D- don't step on the c- c- carpet!" he panted.

There was little they could do. Arrow later comforted herself that Viconia and Jaheira's rapid succession of healing spells probably eased Montaron's suffering in his final moments but they had no power to regrow severed limbs. Edwin and Xan immediately started casting enchantments aimed at disabling the curse or destroying the rug, but the tapestry was impervious to their efforts.

Without his feet, Montaron toppled over, just as Xzar had done and then there was no hope of escape. The doppelganger could reach all of him and tugged him fully into the tapestry. As it pulled, Montaron transformed from a man into a woven image, just like the doppelganger. First his calves, bottom and then stomach were merged into the fabric until only his upper torso and arms were poking out. He screamed and flailed frantically.

Rasaad had the sensible idea of rolling the tapestry up as far as Montaron and then pulling the thief out. This would have worked beautifully had the rug been less heavy or had the doppelganger not already had such a head start. By the time he had rolled up the rug sufficiently to be able to reach Montaron without treading on it, the halfling was reduced to a head, shoulders and a pair of arms. He pulled. So did the doppelganger, latching onto Montaron's abdomen with its razor sharp teeth and claws. It sliced and chomped down over and over, trying to bite him in half. The thief's head sagged. Blood loss and the crushing of his organs had finished him even with the attention of two healers. Knowing it was almost certainly futile, Rasaad flung himself backward, pulling with all his strength in one last-ditch attempt to free him.

There was a great ripping noise and Montaron's head, arms and shoulders tore away from the rest of him in an explosion of blood. Edwin screamed pitifully, and Khalid buried his face into Arrow's back, as she was hit with a crimson splatter. Monk and monster both lunged to grab Xzar, but Rasaad's hands were slippery red and he lost his grip. The doppelganger pulled the rest of the necromancer into the tapestry.

The party stood around the rug, drenched in blood and panting. For a moment nobody could bring themselves to say anything. Xan had backed up into the statue of the harp player. He was mouthing the word 'no' over and over. They stared in horrified fascination as the doppelganger munched silently on the woven remains of the Zhents, fixing them occasionally with malevolent eyes. There would be no trips to the temple this time. Xzar and Montaron were gone. Rasaad staggered forward and hastily rolled up the rest of the carpet. This seemed to snap the others out of it.

"Excellent work Xan!" declared Jaheira loftily. "You just cost us our thief!"

"You had one job, elf!" Edwin added, rounding on his fellow mage.

"There are certainly lessons to be learned from this," chimed in Rasaad, uncharacteristically harshly. They were used to his strength and strange tattoos, but he had got the worst of the blood explosion and dripping with it like this he looked positively demonic. "About not allowing ourselves to become distracted by personal issues!"

Xan's expression turned from traumatized to furious and he extracted himself from the statue. His cloak caught on the stonework and tore as he rose. This did nothing to improve his temper.

"Don't blame him, it was her fault!" bellowed Viconia, pointing a finger in Arrow's face. Without thinking, the ranger smacked it away, hard. With snake-like speed, the cleric seized Arrow by the neck and pinned her up against the wall. She choked, but with legs strengthened by long walking, she kicked the drow repeatedly until she was forced to let go. Both women looked ready for round two, but the rest of the party held them back.

"Enough!" hollered Jaheira stepping between them. She gave Xan and Viconia an imperious look. "I would expect this coming from Arowan, she is not much more than a child, but you two ought to know better! On to the next room!"

She turned and strode toward the North door, expecting to be obeyed. Arrow stepped toward Viconia again but Khalid yanked her arm. With one last, devilish look at Viconia, she followed the Harpers. Her chest was pounding with irrational rage. She remembered telling Rasaad once not to let his anger change him for the worse. Recently she was having difficulty following her own advice.

Never one to let a slight go, Viconia called Arrow something that made even Edwin raise an eyebrow. Xan, having bit his tongue through yet another round of patronizing by Jaheira turned to Rasaad and said;

"For what it is worth, I believe you made a very wise decision ending your relationship with Arrow."

Rasaad felt a jolt in his stomach at this cruel and unexpected remark. Xan rarely discussed feelings at all, never mind of his own volition. It occurred to Rasaad that he had been so concerned about whether Arrow and Viconia were hurt by the previous night's events, that he had forgotten how Xan must hate him for it as well. His gut twisted with a fresh wave of self-loathing.

"She is a pious, weak, self-pitying little brat!" agreed Viconia, savagely.

"Well there's that," said Xan with a smirk, "And the fact that you would have ended up with Jaheira for a mother-in-law."

"I do not wish to be part of this conversation," said Rasaad stiffly, as Viconia laughed.

Edwin watched him striding away with a thoughtful expression. Clearly there were some serious fault-lines in the party. It might be possible to exploit them to further his own cause, although he had not quite decided on how yet.

"Watch and see, Odesseiron," he told himself, as he followed the party. "Yes… watch and see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First major character deaths, not counting Gamaz. Slight break with canon, but the Monty-bird thing could not happen with this party (there is no way after this they would give Arrow a quest or do anything but try to kill her on sight) and I do like to give the characters closure. Being eaten by a carpet feels like the sort of thing that bumbling duo might do, maybe?


	29. Demon Knight

Jaheira watched the ghostly apparition of Durlag scuttering away down the corridor with a worried frown. Not about the dwarf lord himself. Doppelgangers took on his image to murder his family, then adopted his families' faces to try and murder him. In response, the dwarf lord went bonkers and overloaded the tower's defences, ironically preventing anybody from eradicating the doppelgangers. Pretty standard stuff for a seasoned adventurer.

No, she was concerned about the state of the party, and rightly so. Of course, this could never have been a long-term arrangement. Sooner or later the Harpers would send her and Khalid on another assignment. She had begun to harbour hopes, and drop hints in her letters to her contacts, that Arrow might be invited to join them as an associate. The girl was an intractable believer in the greater good rather than balance, which would bar her from ever becoming a true Harper. Yet Elminster had been known from time to time to informally acknowledge trusted allies who were not full members.

Then there was Xan who had made his wishes to go home clear from day one, and Rasaad… she was fond of the boy but the sooner he was packed off on a boat back to Calimport the easier it would be for Arrow. As for Viconia, Jaheira did not much care what happened to her. They had given her a chance and she had, in the Harpers' eyes, failed dismally. Certainly she had her uses, but her presence lowered the party reputation and she disrespected her authority while encouraging Xan to do the same.

That said, Durlag's Tower had already claimed the lives of two of their number, and they had not reached the end yet. The party did not have the luxury of splintering right here right now. In fairness Viconia had tried to patch things up by offering Arrow her… unconventional… perspective on romantic relationships. Perhaps reacting so strongly had been a mistake, though really, Arrow and Khalid? As her young ward would put it: "Ewww." Still, Jaheira was big enough to admit that it was their faction's turn to offer the olive branch.

"Khalid," she whispered discretely. "Go and talk to Xan. Try to patch things up, we need him on-side, especially with our thief dead."

Khalid nodded and strode to the back of the party where Xan was talking with Viconia. The cleric glared at him as he approached. Although she had no direct issue with Khalid, she was biased to regard any male as a sort of extension of his mate. This meant that all of the venom she had built up for Jaheira could just as readily be thrown his way. With a sneer, she detached herself from Xan and meandered over to Rasaad.

Without Montaron, their new method for dealing with the traps was to send the monk to detect them and set them off in the least dangerous way possible. Currently he was tossing bits of loose mortar at a silvery trip wire. Viconia slunk over like a friendly cat, complimenting his skills and smiling at him mainly, the others suspected, to piss off Arrow. The ranger retaliated by firing at the trip wire herself, activating a mini-tornado of flame, which only narrowly missed the pair. Viconia sprang back from the scorching heat, screeching something in drow that it was probably just as well Arrow couldn't understand.

"You must be l- looking forward to returning h- home," Khalid said to Xan conversationally, ignoring the heat on his face and leaving his wife to step once more between ranger and cleric.

"Is that a hint that you would like to get rid of me?" snapped Xan. Khalid, who had not expected so much open hostility right off-the-bat, struggled to reply through his stutter.

"N- n- n- not at-at a- a- all!" he managed. "Evereska is a b- beautiful city. You must m- miss it terribly."

"You have seen Evereska?" asked Xan, surprised. "What business had you that persuaded them to let you in? Normally our gates are barred to all but real elves."

"It is open to those who H- harp," said Khalid. He might have left it there, but there was something about Xan's use of the phrase 'real elves' that struck a nerve. His father had been fond of disparaging his mixed-race status too. In fact he had rather battered him around the head with it, whenever his arm got too tired from battering him literally. "I expect _you_ will not have s- seen the areas we spend m- most time in though. They are o- o- off limits to non-Harpers."

"Did you come over here of your own accord, or on your wife's orders?" asked Xan bluntly.

"Erm…" said Khalid. He hesitated for too long and Xan's face darkened.

"Do not mistake us for friends," said Xan. "At best we are two men fated to die as companions at the heels of our mistresses. Perhaps it would be best to just leave it at that."

Khalid nodded and bit his lip. The rift was worse than perhaps his wife even realised. He hurried back to Jaheira to report, feeling Xan's sneer burning into the back of his skull. The oppressive atmosphere of this madman's dungeon was not inspiring anyone to behave rationally. Arrow raised her hands placatingly in response to Jaheira's instruction and left Viconia alone, but the look she gave her reminded him of the way Cat used to eye-up Minsc's hamster Boo. In fact the expressions on both their faces strongly suggested that this truce would prove temporary.

Progress through the tower had been aggravatingly slow even before the loss of Montaron. Tempers were running higher now and tiredness was setting in with a vengeance. Jaheira was reluctant to let them stop, however, until she was sure that they were all too exhausted to throw barbs at each other.

"I'm s- surprised Viconia would get this angry over a l- l- lowly male," Khalid whispered to his wife dryly. Jaheira allowed herself a half-smile.

"Those two were going to come to blows sooner or later," she whispered back. "Drow and Ilmatari values are completely incompatible. When it gets right down to it, Viconia sees Arrow as weak, and she detests weakness. Rasaad might have brought their pot to boil a bit faster, but it was already hanging over the fire."

The monk himself was focussed fiercely on the task in hand. Everything that had happened in this tower reinforced his resolve to return to the monastery in Calimport and never leave again. Viconia continued to hover, trying to provoke a response out of Arrow, but the ranger was annoyed with herself for taking the bait the first time and did not respond. She forced herself determinedly to walk with Edwin, to the wizard's mild irritation.

"There are mice squeaking down here," Arrow observed after they had been walking for a while.

"What?" snapped the wizard.

"Or rats," she mused. "Bit weird that. What do you suppose they find to eat?"

"Again, you disturb me!" Edwin huffed, adjusting his robes. "This is like having Alora back!"

"Not _exactly_ like having Alora back I hope," replied Arrow with the ghost of a grin. She needed a distraction and she had been harbouring some curiosity about this. "A halfling and a Red Wizard of Thay. Bit unconventional that, wouldn't you say?"

"Haven't you alienated enough people for one day?" replied Edwin smugly. "And perhaps you are not so very different from Alora. You were friendly enough last night with all inhibitions removed. I could scarce escape your pawing."

This was a colossal exaggeration, but in the wake of her recent stream of humiliations, Arrow was becoming rather impervious to embarrassment.

"Do you really want to go there?" she asked, following up with a cough that sounded suspiciously like _'Rasaad.'_

Edwin made a disgusted noise under his breath and gave Arrow a dismissive wave, which she ignored. He was a long way from convinced that the succubus had done nothing more than remove inhibitions. After all, Viconia had been cosying up to that dim-witted monk, while he himself was sleeping only a bedroll away! That made no sense to him at all, unless the demonic creature had also toyed with her wits and eyesight. Still, in order to distract the annoying ranger from this topic, he decided there was no harm in answering her inane queries about his most recent conquest.

"Alora was not a viable long-term prospect," said Edwin, pompously. "But she had some… skills. I assume you ask because you seek to emulate her. Perfectly understandable and if, for example, you wished to rub my feet or bring me my mead in the evenings I would not object. Even with your aesthetic limitations." He added under his breath, "She wears her hair like a man, but one can always close one's eyes."

Arrow grinned despite herself and shook her spikey head. He really might be an attractive man were it not for his personality, but the pontification and vanity rendered him utterly ridiculous.

"That is very generous of you," she replied, lip twitching. "But I cannot take you up on your offer. I am unworthy to be permitted to touch the feet of a man like you."

Most people would have recognized this instantly for the obvious sarcasm it was. Edwin, however, hailed from a culture where this was how commoners were actually expected to address their social superiors. Unless they wished to meet a firey end of course. He nodded at her, almost approvingly, leaving the ranger cracking up inside.

"A secret door," announced Rasaad. "Stand back."

He launched into a series of spinning kicks against the brickwork. His feet made solid dull thuds, disturbing nothing but a disgruntled spiderling from its web in the ceiling. The monk persisted on and on as though the wall had personally offended him in some way.

Xan felt a little guilty about his earlier taunting. Rasaad had not, after all, done anything to him or really done anything at all intentionally. He cast Knock under his breath against the wall and Rasaad's next kick seemed to cause the secret entrance to shift. The monk looked triumphant for a moment, but his satisfaction was short lived. He staggered backward coughing and reeling and a second later the rest of the party knew why.

"Urgh, what is that smell?" gasped Viconia, pulling her tunic over her nose.

"Did Montaron come back to life or something?" asked Arrow.

The source of the sulphuric eggy smell they had noticed when they first descended was revealed. They had been exploring the labyrinth for so long that they had grown accustomed to it and forgotten the stench was there. Now, however, it hit them like an acrid wall. The door revealed a huge natural cavern, lit by glowing pools of unnatural green slime.

"I suggest that we avoid treading in the ooze," said Rasaad. Arrow rolled her eyes. Once she had found his tendency to state the obvious endearing, but now it was starting to get on her nerves. In fact everything the monk did was getting on her nerves. Edwin observed the ranger's response with interest. If Xan and Viconia were one faction and Arrow and the Harpers another then that left Rasaad pretty much on his own.

"And a lone deer away from the herd is easy prey for a cheetah. Just don't let him see your spots," Edwin muttered to himself. He couldn't just go to Baldur's Gate after Dynaheir on his own. Not when she was under Freya's protection. From what he had heard about the Hero of Baldur's Gate, a head on assault would be suicide. Yet if he could worm his way into this party, when they travelled North to meet Freya they might get him close enough to stab the witch in her sleep and run. He didn't need the _whole_ of Arrow's party to agree to take him with them, just the majority. Starting with Rasaad.

"Most impressive," he said.

"Thank you," said the monk lowering his head modestly, "But I deserve no compliments."

" _No, you don't,"_ thought Edwin, but for once he kept his internal dialogue to himself. Instead he asked, "Your goddess must be one of the more powerful ones to allow you to perform such feats. I confess, I know little about the deities of Faerun. My studies were focussed around controlling the weave."

As Edwin expected, Rasaad enthusiastically took on the task of filling this gap in his knowledge. In excruciating detail. Telling him about his ridiculous faith seemed to cheer up the bald-headed silverback no end. It took all of Edwin's self-control to maintain a façade of polite interest when really he was dying inside.

The cave was revolting, infested with ghouls and carrion crawlers. The monk expended some more of his uncomfortable swell of feelings battering them, pausing every now and then to explain to a bored Edwin the spiritual significance behind various moves.

"This is so interesting," the wizard lied. "A great pity we will not have time to discuss it in more depth once we leave this tower. Perhaps," he added with a cunning gleam in his eye, lifting his voice just a fraction so that the Sharran and the Ilmatari would hear him, "I underestimated the power of religion. I would be fascinated to hear more about the blessings of Selune."

Viconia and Arrow both looked at him, with that particular expression that is unique to cart salesmen and religious devotees when they spot a potential convert.

" _Yes, they look at you like hungry dogs,"_ he thought, satisfied. _"That's enough for now. Don't overdo it or they will grow suspicious."_

"Come you have to this cursed place? Fools you are, and doomed as well!" chuckled a voice. A very decayed ghoul lurched out of one of the caves. "Welcome to the damned. You will stay, yes you will. I guard the withered corpse of that fool Durlag because there is little else to do!"

"I've got a pack of cards if that's any help?" suggested Arrow.

"Who are you?" demanded Jaheira. "Answer carefully for these may be your last words!"

"My last words? Last words I spoke when my body died! And it was not even the fight that was remembered. A demon knight, the evil we encased and yet it is Durlag's name that is remembered not mine!"

"Eh. We're really just here for the doppelgangers," shrugged Arrow. "What even is a demon knight?"

The ghoul managed a gormless gawp, which was quite an achievement since ghouls tended to look gormless by default. It was something about the way the rotting skin hung around their jaws. Made them look a bit clueless.

"My intention it was to have you join us as unwilling guardians," said the ghoul, "But bear eternity in your company I could not. Now you must die!"

The ghoul lunged forward, and as he did so more carrion crawlers emerged from the poisonous puddles of ooze. Rasaad dodged a swing from his corroded sword and punched him swiftly in the neck and chest. Was it their imagination, or was he showing off Selune's power for Edwin's benefit?

There was a flash of fire and Viconia's summoned sword cut deep into the undead warrior's shoulder.

"Shar, by the way, that was Shar!" she called pointedly.

"Die in the name of Ilmater!" cried Arrow, releasing a fire arrow and striking the confused ghoul in the hole in his face where his nose used to be. They looked at her. "What? I'm releasing him from his suffering, that's a charitable thing to do."

Edwin rubbed his hands together with glee and let fly a barrage of magic missiles. His mastery of the weave trumped all three of them and the ghoul fell having barely had chance to raise his sword.

"You two also draw your powers from deities?" he cried, in feigned delight. "You _must_ tell me all about it. I had no idea religion could be such a source of strength and er… inspiration to do good!" he added for Arrow's benefit. Xan narrowed his eyes at the red wizard suspiciously.

"I think it is safe to rest now," said Jaheira. In truth there was little option. There was nothing left to do now but find Durlag's shade, probably battle him, and draw a line under this whole sorry business. She was not naive enough to suppose that every doppelganger had been purged from Baldur's Gate, but between their efforts and Freya's the threat of them taking over the Sword Coast seemed to have been averted.

"Praise be to Shar!" sighed Viconia.

"Ilmater."

"Selune!"

Edwin allowed himself a secret little smile. Already this was working far better than he could have hoped. Having caught a bite on their religious hooks, there was no way that these fanatics would willingly let him go until they had reeled him in. By the time they were done with Durlag, these foolish donkeys would no doubt carry him to Baldur's Gate on their shoulders if he asked them to.

They barricaded themselves into one of the smaller rooms and settled to sleep without setting up a watch. Last time the succubus had caused them to forget to do it, this time there was no point. With the party this fatigued there was little a watcher could do, even assuming that sleep did not overcome them involuntarily.

That night, for the first time, Arrow had a vision of two of her siblings at once and it left her feeling nauseous. Normally she would float, spirit-like, at a fixed point over the head of whoever she was dreaming about. Wherever the most heated anger and violence was, to that sibling she would go. Presumably this was because they were Bhaalspawn and their father's taint was at its most powerful when they were committing destructive acts. This time was different. Instead of hovering over one of them, she yo-yoed between the two, without warning. It left her utterly motion sick and disorientated.

By the smell of things, she was not the only one feeling sick. Eric was disembarking nervously from a battered looking sailing ship and he reeked of vomit. Salty sea air whipped his long dark hair around his face. He looked pale and ill even by his standards. For a moment Arrow felt sorry for her brother, but then she remembered how he had disembowelled that paladin and tried to force him to renounce his god, and her heart hardened.

Freya, on the other hand, was healed from her earlier ordeal and looking every inch the demigod. Flanked by Flaming Fist soldiers and her party (Coran, she noticed, had finally rid himself of his cursed femininity and was male again). She was rather better armed and armoured than the last time Arrow had seen her. It seemed that the nobility of Baldur's Gate had deigned to reward her efforts by substantially upgrading her kit, though she noticed that Skie's father was watching her with an unfriendly eye.

The Hooded Man stepped off the boat after Eric. The young necromancer's eyes were darting frantically from him to Freya and back again. It was hard to say which of the pair terrified him more. If the golden werewolf was afraid of either of them, she did not show it. Her jaw was set and she was wearing a rather hard expression. There was little of her usual cocky humour in her dazzlingly beautiful face

"Greetings Bhaalspawn," began the Hooded Man, striding toward her. "I have waited a long time to meet-"

"Hang them," said Freya.

It was impossible for Eric to grow paler than he already was but his entire body began to shiver uncontrollably. His worst fears were confirmed. The death his sister had promised him in a vision had been no idle threat.

"NO!" a familiar voice screamed from behind her.

Eric raised his head hopefully.

"I -Imoen?" he croaked.

"Eric!" she cried, ducking through the grip of the Flaming Fist guards to Freya's alarm and embracing him. Judging by the werewolf's expression Imoen had not warned her that she intended to do this. Doubtless Freya would have kept her away if she had. Despite the seriousness of the situation and how unambiguously evil Eric was, Imoen seemed genuinely delighted to see him, brushing back his hair and searching his face.

Arrow noticed the Hooded Man was now watching Imoen with unmistakable curiosity. Her heart began to thud as a deep feeling of dread crept over her.

"It's ok now, I'm here," Imoen told him. Arrow groaned in despair. Being as she was, a chimera, patched together from little pieces of the souls of Gorion's wards, Imoen loved them all unconditionally. She had to.

Never had Arrow wanted to take physical form in her dreams more. She knew far better than Imoen what Eric was, and she was desperate to drag her friend away from him and the Hooded Man, back to the relative safety of the Flaming Fist. The necromancer made a grab for the pink haired girl and Arrow screamed, unheard, convinced that Imoen was about to be killed or at least become a hostage. Apparently Freya was thinking on the same lines and she motioned to the guards to arrest them.

Instead Eric hugged Imoen, sobbing great heaving tears into her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he wailed. "I wish I could take it all back. Father was right, I should never have left!"

"Don't you dare bring Dad into this!" barked Freya.

"It's ok," said Imoen. But it was not ok at all. If Imoen was convinced by his apology, it was clear that Freya was not. The soul connection they shared prevented her from hurting her brother directly, but she seemed to have no qualms about directing her followers to do it for her.

Rough hands clamped onto Eric's shoulders dragging the terrified boy back. Freya gestured coldly in the direction of the main road and with a jolt of horror, Arrow saw that she had received the Hooded Man's message that they were coming and prepared accordingly. Two scaffolds had been hastily erected, and a pair of nooses swung gently in the sea breeze ready to receive the evil wizards.

A strangled scream escaped from Eric's lips, but the Hooded Man simply laughed.

"Please sister! I at least deserve a trial!" Eric begged, as the guards began hauling him toward the scaffold. Withdrawal from the numbing potions, the long sea voyage and the attentions of the Hooded Man had left him in no state to defend himself.

"Don't tempt me to give you what you 'deserve,'" replied Freya in a voice like iron. "Things will get a lot worse for you if I do."

Her party watched with grim expressions. Safana's eyes kept darting to the gallows anxiously and Minsc was cuddling his tiny hamster to his chest for comfort, but none of them made any move to dissuade their leader. Coran looked uncharacteristically serious, and Arrow knew why. He was a thief, and every thief operating in the larger towns and cities lived under the threat of one day receiving a sentence like this.

A mob had gathered to watch the execution. As they saw Eric being dragged in their direction a roaring jeer rose up. The necromancer struggled like a wild animal but he was physically weak and it made no difference. The Hooded Man watched indifferently, but when the guards tried to move him a magical sphere spread out from his body and they were thrown backward.

"You are going to execute him on the word of one woman?" the Hooded Man called to the Grand Dukes. "A werewolf no less?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. Freya's commanding aura of charisma tended to lead even quite senior people to go along with her when she gave orders. Especially when she had just saved said people from an invasion of doppelgangers and falling under the rule of a war-mongering demigod. That, and they still needed her to chase Sarevok to his hiding place and finish the job. None of them fancied taking on the task themselves. Unquestionably though, the Hooded Man did have a point.

One of the guards the Hooded man had blasted back was rising unsteadily to his feet. The other wasn't. Arrow recognized him as the young lad whose life Freya had spared when she escaped from the Iron Fist guards. He had seemed harmless enough. She craned to see if he was alright but without moving closer it was hard to tell. Freya muttered something to the officer on her right, who stepped over to check on the boy. Arrow recognised her too, as the scalp collecting officer she had argued with in Beregost, Jessa Vai.

"Are there no other witnesses?" asked Duke Silvershield. Freya made an odd noise in her throat. It sounded as if she was trying to suppress a growl. Though her lycanthropy was common knowledge, advertising it to the bloodthirsty mob would not be a smart move. "You mentioned a courtesan, Bubbles?"

"Let her be!" yelled Eric, briefly finding what scant courage he had.

"Nobody knows where she is," replied Freya tersely, "And she was his lover, he saved her from the pits. She's as likely to lie to protect him as not." She paused thinking. "Yes. There is another witness."

" _Not me, not me, not me,"_ pleaded Arrow in a whispered petition to Ilmater.

"The ranger Arowan," said Freya. "Summon her to Baldur's Gate. She can testify at their trial."

Arrow buried her face into her hands. Because of this she did not see exactly where they took him, but it looked as though Imoen followed because when she looked up again she had gone. She would not have been altogether sorry to see her evil brother's life brought to an end. He was a terrible person and there was nothing she could have done to help him. This was different. Her testimony would lead directly to his execution. Yet if she lied and they released him she would be responsible for every life he took thereafter. She tried to think of a way out of it, but couldn't. Summons from the Flaming Fist were seldom optional.

"This one doesn't need a trial!" barked Officer Vai, starting furiously toward the Hooded Man. "He's killed one of our lads he has!"

"I pushed him away," said the Hooded Man.

"And he landed wrong and his neck is broken!" Vai bellowed. She drew her sword and swung it at the sphere but was blasted back herself.

"Fools! You cannot contain me!" he snapped impatiently.

"Lock up the necromancer!" demanded Duke Silvershield. "Legion, form ranks!"

"Officers stay behind me!" ordered Freya, "Do not engage in melee, this one's more dangerous than Sarevok."

"I have no interest in this," the Hooded Man said.

"Mage division, dispel magic on my mark!"

Freya charged forward swords drawn. The Hooded Man threw a spell at her but he had gauged her power from his dealings with Eric. Freya, with a combination of lycanthropy and magical enhancement from Gorion's tomes was a rather different prospect. She was armed with the best equipment Baldur's Gate could provide and she threw off his curse with ease. He started muttering incantations, preparing something stronger.

"MARK!"

Dozens of dispelling spells flew at him at once. None of the mages would have lasted thirty seconds against him alone, but there were so many. The Hooded Man cursed in annoyance. He had not banked on the Hero of Baldur's Gate meeting him with an entire army at her back.

"Archers, Fire!"

Arrows of all types; fire, acid, ice, rained down on him. The dispelling spells were wearing at his defences and replenishing them was distracting him from attacking Freya. She had reached him now and swung at him with all her strength. It was barely enough to graze his arm, but she did draw blood.

"Cease this foolishness, I wish only to talk!" he demanded. The archers and battle mages continued to batter him, along with Freya (and Minsc who had ignored her instruction and charged him anyway). Some of the more powerful mages, Dynaheir, Duke Jannath and a few others had started casting spells intended to cause damage.

Only Freya was hurting him, and barely. Alone he could capture her with modest difficulty but he would not be able to snatch her from her city. So aggressive, and so persistent. She had a great deal of her father in her… it was most promising… but he would have to leave for now. He would need to exercise patience. Though all she had succeeded in doing was inflicting half a dozen scratches it was possible, eventually, to die from a thousand small cuts. With an annoyed grunt, the Hooded Man teleported away.

Freya stepped back panting.

"Damn. Barely scratched the bastard," she said. "Think all this was excessive _now_ milord?" She gestured one of her swords at the assembled Flaming Fist divisions. "I told you he was a piece of work."

"We've got Eric," said Duke Silvershield. "With Arowan's testimony that will be sufficient grounds for a summary execution. One problem at a time."

She nodded and the Duke strode away. Coran and Minsc approached her awkwardly. She clapped them on the shoulders like brothers and looked around to collect her thoughts. The divisions dispersed back to their barracks but a few lingered around the body of the young recruit.

"Alright lads, someone grab his legs!" barked Freya, getting a grip under his arms. His head flopped at a grotesque angle. "Best get him to the temple sharpish."

"Pardon Sir, but he can't afford a resurrection spell," said one of the officers.

"Get the Duke to pay for it!"

"The Fist don't pay for that," said Officer Vai grimly. "We sign a contract when we join that agrees not to-"

"Fine, _I'll_ pay for it," snapped Freya impatiently. "Now look lively! Unless you fancy explaining to his poor old nan that her grandson snuffed it and we didn't even manage to catch his killer!"

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," the first officer said, scooping up his feet. "I can't tell you how grateful-"

"Alright, alright, put a sock in it now," replied Freya. "Nobody likes a bootlick." Officer Vai grinned.

Arrow woke, with no cry or scream, just staring dully at the stone ceiling. There was no way out of this one. She would have to tell the truth. Who knew what Eric might do if he was allowed to go free? Yet she was sentencing him to his death. She closed her eyes and pictured what he had done to the paladin and to the dwarf warrior who he charmed into slaying his own friends. He deserved to die there was no doubt about it. She mustn't feel sorry for him.

They ate in awkward silence, then followed Jaheira back to Durlag's shade. The dwarf looked confused and so old. Dwarves lived a long time but Arrow wondered if perhaps old age and dementia had as much of a hand in the design of this labyrinth as the doppelgangers.

"Everybody ready?" asked Jaheira. They nodded, tightening their grips on their weapons. The druid took a deep breath and tapped Durlag on the spectral shoulder. He looked at her, perplexed, frown lines forming over his brow.

"You have survived," he said slowly, not quite able to believe it. "You have understood. The hate… the fear…"

"All this just because you wanted to be understood?" asked Arrow. "Couldn't you have just hired a therapist or taken up abstract painting or something?" Everybody glared at her and she shut up.

"Now you must stop it becoming worse," the dead dwarf went on. "There is a creature below."

"The Demon Knight," replied Jaheira. "Your undead bodyguard warned us."

"You must remove it or it will make this place its own," said Durlag. "Such a fortress… impenetrable if made in its image."

He ran up a passageway, a shade of his wife awaited him at the end of it. She looked at them, sad dark eyes shining from under her curly black hair. To the party's surprise she offered to return them to the surface.

"Could we have a moment to think about this?" asked Arrow. They gathered around in a huddle. "So, scale of one to ten, how bad is a Demon Knight?"

"Bad," replied Xan hopelessly.

"We came here to slay the doppelgangers," said Arrow. "We did that. If this thing wants to live in this horrible tower, why not let it? We'll board up the entrance and put up signs."

"It isn't that simple, idiot rivvil," snapped Viconia. "Don't you see what we've done? We cleared the tower of all of Durlag's protections. It can bring in more demonic creatures whenever it feels like it. Doppelgangers and anything else besides. It can use this place as its base now and spread an empire outward. Our options are fight or run. We'd have to run a long way."

"Are you sure those are the only options?" asked Arrow scornfully. "If I remember correctly, the last time we fought an evil stronghold was with Gamaz and you ended up wanting to join him. If we bring you will you help us slay the Demon Knight or just try to have sex with it?"

"This isn't helping!" snapped Jaheira. "We need to make a decision; do we take on the Demon Knight? Or don't we?"

"I don't see that we have much of a choice," said Xan unhappily. "His doppelgangers are taking over Baldur's Gate. Unless we put a stop to this it won't matter whether Sarevok wins or loses. They'll take over everywhere eventually. What's the point of running?"

"We'd get to live a little longer," muttered Viconia.

"Hey Viconia, did you and Xan swap personalities?" quipped Arrow. "Jaheira, if you say fight I'll back you."

"A- as will I," stammered Khalid, though he was looking at the door with a petrified expression.

"An excruciating descent into the abyss will befall each of us eventually," moaned Xan. "Better to get the inevitable over with quickly."

"I deserve no better fate," moaned Rasaad, who had not gotten over the incident with the succubus.

"We fight," Jaheira said firmly, though her knuckles were white where she gripped her staff.

Just before they crossed the threshold, Khalid took Jaheira's hand in his own and said; "If we don't make it, I am honoured to die by your side my love."

"What a nauseating display!" snapped Viconia, loudly.

Xan's lip twitched, despite himself. Her total inability or unwillingness to conform to basic social norms was utterly endearing. What was the matter with him? She was rude, violent and transparently attracted to the monk, at least on a superficial level.

Back home in Evereska there were women of his own kind, many of whom had been interested in the young heir to a Moonblade. The lifespan of elves was such that he had already had time to meet them all. The problem was they all possessed one glaring, non-negotiable flaw: they were not Viconia.

He took her hand in his, and she narrowed her red eyes at him, daring him to try saying something soppy.

"Viconia," he said, meeting her eyes. "You are far nastier than any Demon Knight, and I am nowhere near as frightened of it as I am of you." She shot him an amused, slightly twisted smile.

Arrow eyed the door ruefully. She would receive no such romantic declaration and despite her best efforts not to care, it was making her sad. This was no time to be worrying about such petty things though. Not with the evil awaiting them on the other side.

' _If only I could postpone my feelings,'_ she thought. _'And deal with them later."_

She remembered the bag containing Gamaz's numbing potions and inhaled sharply. Suddenly she felt very aware of their weight. Adrenaline flooded through her and her heart began to pound with fear in a way that had nothing to do with the Demon Knight.

' _Don't be ridiculous!'_ she berated herself, willing her heartrate to calm from that terrifying idea. _'Just because you thought it doesn't mean you'd ever do it.'_

"Take whatever potions you are carrying now!" said Jaheira. She meant ability enhancers for the fight of course, having no notion of the dangerous concoctions sloshing around in Arrow's pack. Still given the thoughts that had been going through her mind, her words made the ranger flinch. "Spellcasters, prepare yourselves. We're going in."

"I am blessed to stand in such heroic company," said Edwin in a bored voice. "Yes, yes. Let these brainless peasants act as canon fodder Odesseiron, and live to fight another day." With that the Thayan turned and fled. Nobody bothered to stop him. Seconds later there was a click and a yelp. To their amusement they found him dangling upside down by one ankle from the ceiling. "Get me down!" he howled.

"Later," smirked Jaheira.

"Hang in there Edwin," said Arrow, who considered puns the highest form of wit. "We'll get you on the way out."


	30. A Matter of Faith

"Stop where you are! I've a bow trained on your neck and you'll not live to reach me!" cried a ranger, leaping to her feet hysterically. Her brown unwashed hair hung in sweaty clumps around her face and her hands trembled.

"You're a Demon Knight?" queried Arrow, cocking her head to one side. "After all that build up I was expecting something… fancier."

Charisma as non-existent as Arowan's could be problematic for an adventurer in any situation, but in some scenarios it was downright catastrophic. The strange archer let fly an acid tipped arrow into their own ranger's shoulder blade.

Retaliation followed, immediate and brutal. Jaheira cast a web of vines which pinned the trapped adventurer down. She had meant to interrogate her but Viconia got there first and, true to form, decapitated her before she could say another word. The druid was not best pleased but for once she held her tongue. They could not afford any more infighting until after the Demon Knight was dealt with.

"Arrgh!" screamed Arrow. She yanked the missile out but the acid continued to corrode her flesh around the wound. "Help me! It burns!"

Their cleric moved over to heal her at a _very_ leisurely pace. She murmured her incantations slowly and carefully, making it clear to Arrow with her body language that she was enjoying watching her suffer. As she moved her hands over her, they got the impression that she was prodding at the wound a little bit more than was necessary just to make it worse. Arrow fixed her with a hate-filled expression but it would be stupid to provoke Viconia now when she was the one with the power to make the acid stop.

"I wonder who that woman was," mused Rasaad, regretfully.

"Not important," said Jaheira. "Let's go."

They climbed up a narrow flight of stone stairs and this time they were confronted with the creature Arrow had expected to see. A horned monster with a goat-like face dragging a long, almost reptilian tail along the floor. There was a faint scent of blood and urine in the room. The aftermath of a battle where the bodies had been removed, but the clean-up had been substandard.

It was standing in the centre of a circular room, with a raised balcony around the edge, looking thoughtfully at a mirror covered in translucent material. The reflection within was moving but not in time with the Demon Knight itself. It turned to the left, and the mirror-demon scratched its nose. It looked at them, while the mirror version stared off into space.

"Spider says to fly; 'the parlour welcomes.' You have come to die and spider knows best," said the knight in a voice like a death rattle.

His ramblings didn't make any sense and the Bhaalspawn was not in a patient mood. She wanted to be on the surface again, and she wanted to get there quickly. Unwisely, Arrow vaulted the balcony and yanked down the material covering the mirror.

"What are you doing?" Jaheira and the Demon Knight howled as one.

"Demon Knight wants it covered up," shrugged Arrow, "So I figured we should uncover it. I mean it's that or listen to it spouting poetry for the next half-hour."

"You foolish mortal!" howled the Demon Knight. "You have exposed us all to the mirror's tainted effects. It is cracked and malfunctions! You will suffer long for this."

The mirror shimmered and out of it stepped a copy of Arrow. It was clearly her, but it was not an exact replica. Her features were oddly distorted and her arms and legs bent the opposite way to how they were supposed to. It would be difficult for her to fire a bow.

She was followed by similarly warped versions of Khalid, Jaheira, Xan, Viconia and finally Rasaad. They looked at their real selves with hostile eyes and raised their weapons to attack. Worse, bringing up the rear was a second Demon Knight.

"Arrow you moron!" screamed Jaheira.

Yet to their surprise, the Demon Knight left them to it and attacked its own mirror image. It did not take long for it to become apparent what was happening. Their own duplicates were advancing on the party menacingly.

The real Arrow and Viconia caught each other's eye and smiled darkly, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking. They had been itching to lay into each other for some time now, and here was a consequence-free opportunity to do it. Both rushed, enthusiastically, to attack the other's opposite.

Both Arowans began by shooting fire arrows at their counterpoint Viconia. This was more effective in the real ranger's case as backward limbs made archery somewhat problematic. This must be what the Demon Knight had meant by the mirror malfunctioning. Rasaad began to spar with his own mirror image, and he too looked as though he was almost enjoying himself. It was rare that he got the opportunity to spar with a martial arts expert whose abilities almost matched his own.

Jaheira transformed into a great bear and swiped at the throat of her mirror husband. Unlike the others, the Harpers were more practised adventurers who knew that it was usually best to focus on bringing down one or two opponents at a time rather than fighting them all in single combat. Khalid threw himself at his mirror image self, ignoring his faux-wife who was beating his back with a staff.

Both Viconias had reached their respective Arrows now. Post-battle, Arrow reflected that this might not be a conflict she wanted to provoke after all, because both she and her mirror image got their arses severely kicked. Though she had succeeded in badly hurting the mirror-drow, as soon as the fight became a melee she stood no chance.

Arrow drew a short blade and tried to parry mirror-Viconia's fire sword but the heat was making her hand blister and she would not be able to hold out for long against such a vicious onslaught. The real cleric meanwhile, had already brought the fake-ranger to her knees. The real women locked eyes as she plunged her flaming blade sharply into mirror-Arrow's chest. The Ilmatari watched herself die, with an unpleasant smell of roast pork as her insides burned, and winced.

As the ranger saw herself defeated so easily at her rival's hand, mirror-Viconia knocked the blade from her grip. It skittered across the stone with a little metallic jingle. The Sharran's burning weapon bit deep into her arm, followed by a swift kick to her chest, which knocked her back onto the stone floor. She looked up into the distorted face of mirror-Viconia as she raised her sword to deliver the lethal blow.

Yet the fire of her sword flickered out, and then the face was falling, falling. It landed on the ground with a thump and rolled away. Arrow sat up holding her slashed arm, and there was the real Viconia looking infuriatingly smug at having saved her life _again._ Then, just to add insult to injury she healed the ranger's arm.

"Thanks," muttered Arrow grudgingly.

"I just want to make sure _I_ get out of here alive," snipped the cleric. "Next time, I'll let you die."

Together they joined the mirror-Demon knight in finishing off their weakened enemy, before Viconia stabbed him too for good measure. They looked back to the balcony. Mirror-Khalid was gone and the real Khalid fought on, though he had dropped his shield and was clutching his back with one hand. He seemed amusingly reluctant to strike mirror-Jaheira. Viconia had to hand it to the druid, he really was _very well trained._

Rasaad, having that advantage of his limbs facing the right way, had wrestled himself to the ground and had stopped him with a blow to the head. Arrow shot the mirror-Jaheira through the neck, and their real leader resumed her human form.

"Where is Xan?" she barked.

The others looked around. In all the chaos they had quite forgotten about him. Then Viconia pointed behind the mirror and laughed. Mirror- and real- Xan were standing opposite each other, hands raised in incantation, but all the wizards could do was blink at each other furiously.

"They must have p- p- paralyzed each other at the same t- time," said Khalid, fighting a smile. He struck off the head of mirror-Xan lazily. Real-Xan turned pale but was still unable to move.

"Arowan, I believe you have hairbands that you are not using at present?" asked Viconia, a wicked smile playing over her lips. The ranger opened her mouth angrily to retort to this latest mockery of her shaven head, then caught on and grinned evilly. Poor immobilized Xan's panicked eyes blinked more furiously than ever before.

When they finally returned to release Edwin from the trap he had stumbled into, they found that the Thayan had climbed up himself and was clinging, bent double, to the rope so as not to hang upside-down. His robes were tangled and he looked extremely undignified, but not as undignified as Xan whose hair had been brushed and braided into pigtails. He could not take them off. Jaheira, despite begroaning the general immaturity of her party, had very discretely slipped Arrow some of the potion she used to immovably style her wig.

In truth, she was relieved that Viconia and Arrow had found something to temporarily bond over. They couldn't resist smiling as they surveyed him, each clearly delighted with their own handiwork.

"Did the Demon Knight drop anything of use?" Edwin demanded, untangling himself and flopping to the floor.

"Only this," said Xan, producing a dagger. It weighed heavily in his hand and was warm to the touch. Something about it made the party feel inexplicably uneasy. The gem at its hilt seemed to have an inner light of some sort and shapes were moving in it. Every so often it almost seemed like there was the glimmer of a hand or a face, but if you focussed on it for too long it felt as if the dark core of the gem was pulling you in. "I do not recognise it, do you?"

"Soultaker," breathed Edwin, hefting the dagger in his hand. "Kill an enemy with this and their soul is sucked through the blade and into the gem."

"Those are people in there?" asked Arrow, horrified.

"Indeed," said Edwin, attempting to tuck the dagger into his robes. This was perfect. If he could stab Dynaheir with this they would be unable to revive her. It would make assassination so much easier because he would not have to find a way to irreversibly destroy her body. The method he had been planning to use would have been… messy. "I will take this as payment for my assistance in getting you through this tower."

"What assistance? You ran away!" snapped Xan, looking adorable in his pigtails.

"I also lost two members of my own party. I am taking their share as well, as their heir," said Edwin. Arrow and Rasaad were both glaring at him furiously, and it occurred to the wizard that his plan would fail if greed caused him to alienate them. "Very well," he sighed, handing the dagger to Rasaad. "If you believe that the powers of your goddess can liberate the entrapped souls better than conventional magic, then I trust them to you."

Rasaad and Arrow looked at each other, surprised, then back at Edwin, who was straightening his robes.

"Your intent was to free them?" said Rasaad uncertainly.

"And you were willing to use your share of the loot from this tower to do it?" asked Arrow.

Xan was scowling at the Red Wizard with more scepticism than ever, but with his current cutsie look, he doubted that anything he said would be taken seriously.

"Could you imagine being trapped in that stone forever?" asked Edwin seriously. "It would be a form of hell, deserved by none but the most evil of witches!"

He noticed Viconia shooting him a disgusted look for his charity and cursed inwardly. Stringing along all three faiths at once was going to be a challenge. Xan's disbelieving expression had not gone unnoticed either. He would have to balance out the goody-two-shoes routine with something more believable.

"And of course the families of the liberated individuals would no doubt be most grateful," Edwin said disarmingly. "They must have been important, wealthy souls to be worth harvesting with such a weapon. No doubt the value of the rewards would outweigh that of the trinkets we obtained here."

"Should have known it would be something like that," spat Xan, though Viconia nodded approvingly.

"A good deed for a bad motive is a good deed nonetheless," said Rasaad. Edwin smiled to himself. He was good at this.

Islanne's shade transported them out of the tower, much to everyone's relief and after they had walked long enough that the accursed place was out of sight, Jaheira sat them down for lunch. With tempers cooled they needed to have a serious discussion about what should happen next.

Arrow already seemed much happier. Khalid had noticed that his ward struggled a bit with large settlements, but she was barely able to cope with prolonged stints in dungeons. She had panicked at Montaron's death in the Nashkel mines and suffered a full-blown morale failure after being imprisoned underground by Gamaz. Her behaviour in Candlekeep had been utterly irrational and she was scarcely less erratic in Durlag's tower.

Whereas, out here, on the open road, with fresh air and scrubland as far as the eye could see, her good mood had returned almost instantly. It was hard to believe that the girl who was splitting a bread roll with Viconia now was the same person who had come to blows with her only the previous day.

"I have to go to Baldur's Gate," said Arrow resignedly. "The Flaming fist are going to issue a summons, I saw it in a vision." She explained to them about Freya's idea to make her testify as to what she had seen Eric do in the Black Pits so that they could hang him. "I don't have a choice so I'd rather just get it over with. I don't expect any of you to accompany me though. It won't be dangerous and it certainly won't be fun."

"W- we can come with you as f- far as the Friendly Arm," said Khalid. "But I expect when we get there we'll be sent on another a- assignment."

"Viconia? Xan?" asked Jaheira.

"Well we are headed North," said Xan doubtfully. "Perhaps we should also come as far as the Friendly Arm." The cleric pulled a face. "We don't know that the Flaming Fist aren't still hunting you down here Viconia, this is their stomping ground. We shouldn't part ways with them till we get further North."

Viconia looked unconvinced. She was ready to take her leave right then and there, but Xan did have a point. They were not so far from where those Flaming Fist thugs were still hanging up her wanted notices. She waivered.

"And you can see how Cat is doing," suggested Xan. That settled it.

"Oh, we can take her with us!" exclaimed Viconia ecstatically. Xan's face froze in horror. The tortured, mutilated woman whose mind had been twisted into an animal-like state by Gamaz was hardly his idea of a good companion. Viconia, conversely, had grown up in the Underdark where slaves' minds were broken like that routinely so that they could be given to children like pet puppies. "I always wanted one of my own! My matron would never let me keep one, said they ruined the carpets."

"To the Friendly Arm it is then," said Edwin. Everyone stared at him. "I will stay a while until I can book passage back to Thay. I have given up on Dynaheir. I will simply have to explain to my superiors that I was unable to locate her. In truth I was never so keen on this task, sometimes I think perhaps the methods of the Red Wizards are a little… heavy handed."

He had to steel himself to spit the lie out. In truth he had no intention of giving up on his murderous campaign against the witch, not least because he could never go home while she still breathed.

"Then let us travel together," said Rasaad. "I too must book sea passage, back to Calimport."

"Perhaps you should bypass the Friendly Arm and head directly to Baldur's Gate," suggested Arrow frostily. "If you set out now you will be gone by the time we get there."

"Is that what you want?" the monk asked quietly. The ranger neither replied nor looked at him.

It was definitely not what Edwin wanted. To have to endure the moon-monk's ramblings about Selune all the way to Baldur's Gate and never get within striking distance of Dynaheir? Intolerable!

Still the Friendly Arm was a good distance away yet… he had time to work on changing their minds. Before he could say anything however, Arrow nudged him in the ribs and nodded. A near skeletal man in grey rags was headed in their direction. He appeared to be a hermit.

"Ho there! I am Bentan, most devout follower of the great, broken Ilmater. I wonder if any of you follow the path of the Crying God?"

"I find the suggestion that I would follow such a weak deity insulting," said Viconia icily. Arrow made a displeased noise but said nothing.

"Yes, a few of us do offer daily prayers to the one who endures all," said Arrow pleasantly. "Why?"

"A few of you, but not all?" cried Bentan horrified. "Well all I can say is that despite your claims to venerate the one true god you have been lax in your duties. For those of you who have not been enlightened to the faith, listen closely."

Edwin scoffed.

"Bother me further hermit, and I will give you something to cry about!" Edwin declared loudly. Then his brow knitted, as though struck by a sudden thought. "Don't be hasty Odesseiron, this may be the chance we've been waiting for," he muttered, apparently unaware that the others could hear him. The Harpers exchanged a look, but neither of them could think of what the opportunity he spoke of might be. "On second thoughts my good man, tell me more of your emotionally incontinent deity."

The evangelist needed no such encouragement. He had already embarked on a long and tedious lecture about the perils of sins of the flesh (such as eating food and owning clothes). He then got into a brief, but dull, theological debate with the ranger about whether one was supposed to derive holy pleasure from suffering for Ilmater.

"No, by definition no!" Arrow was insisting. "Suffering means suffering, not pleasure! The two are mutually exclusive!"

"Ha!" retorted Viconia. "You have a lot to learn rivvil."

"All you need to do to become a faithful of Ilmater is to cast off your worldly possessions!" Bentan declared, with a judgemental glare at Arrow. "You will wander the world and suffer in the place of others. You will spread the word as I have spread it to you. What say you? Will you cast off your possessions and become a faithful of Ilmater?"

Jaheira took a step backward. One worldly possession that this hermit probably should not have shunned was soap. Close-to his rancid breath and corned-beef armpits were overpowering.

"Shedding all your possessions makes you a burden on others," snapped Arrow. "You are not suffering in their place, you are just suffering, and eating the food that kind-hearted farmers can ill-afford to give you while you do it!"

"This is all so fascinating," said Edwin, unconvincingly. The ranger fixed him with a suspicious scowl. "Arowan, tell me more about Ilmater. Perhaps we could pray together? (Yes, excellent notion, engage with her primitive rituals.)"

"Excuse me?" replied Arrow, nonplussed.

"You would reject the true word in favour of this false prophet's perversion of the faith?" howled Bentan, spit flying from his mouth. "She is a heretic! A greedy, materialistic, dissident heathen!"

"Scram moron, the she-monkey and I are talking," said Edwin, shooing Bentan away with a dismissive wave of his manicured hand. The hermit gave up and scurried away, calling warnings of hellfire over his shoulder, accompanied by poisonous backward glances at Arrow.

They set out again, having a great deal of ground to cover. Arrow gave Viconia her headscarf to help her conceal herself should the Flaming Fist put in an appearance. The drow accepted with a curt nod and wrapped it around her face, pulling up her hood.

"You are wearing the scarf less I notice," she observed, "Are you growing accustomed to the…" she gestured to Arrow's head which was growing back prickly dark spikes where Gamaz's monks had shaved it.

"I still don't like it much but it's growing on me," Arrow said. She waited for the laugh. It never came. "Growing on me. Growing. You know, because hair grows on me… oh never mind," she sighed.

"It is good that you are making jokes again," said Rasaad.

"Oh, plenty more where that came from," Arrow assured him. "You thought my lice and my chicken gags were corny? I can make some _hair-raisingly_ bad puns out of this material and you lot are going to hear all of them on the way to _Bald-_ er's Gate."

"Shar preserve me," sighed Viconia.

"Tell me more about this Shar who preserves you?" said Edwin unexpectedly, adding under his breath, "Yes Edwin, these religious types love to blather on about their fanatical superstitions."

"The Nightsinger," said Viconia, drawing herself up proudly, "Inspires her followers to seek strength and power, unlike her weak and pale sister Selune." Rasaad scowled. "Only the strongest are worthy to walk in her umbra. We purge weakness even from our own ranks, for sheltering the frail only encourages them to propagate and spread their infirmities.

"That is a crippling flaw in Sharran philosophy," chipped in Arrow. "There is always somebody stronger than you, there is always somebody weaker. If everyone went around purging those weaker than themselves eventually there would be only one creature left in existence!"

"Yes, and that creature would be Shar," agreed Viconia. "That's the point."

"This is all just so fascinating. I am interested in all your pontificating prattle (patience, patience)," Edwin agreed. He had been repressing his habit of thinking aloud but the longer the deception went on for, the more prone he was to slipping up.

That evening as they made camp, Arrow found her thoughts meandering back to Eric. She wished there were some way that he could be locked away safely somewhere without harming him. It seemed improbable though. If Imoen was unable to dissuade Freya from having their brother executed, why would she be able to? Perhaps she could have his sentence commuted to a private hanging though. She could not bear the thought of seeing him face that jeering rabble.

She strode out a little way into the wood, setting her rabbit snares and keeping an ear out for any suggestion of prey. It felt good to be outdoors again after being trapped in that tower. She really did not feel like herself underground. It was as though every negative thought echoed back at her from the oppressive walls. She set the last trap, but her mind was still racing with thoughts of Eric, and she knew she would never sleep unless she wore herself out first.

The ranger drew an arrow and crept into the woods, looking for recent tracks of anything edible and keeping an ear open. A twig snapped behind her. She spun around and shot. Experience gained on this difficult journey had sharpened Rasaad's skills and this time he dodged successfully. The arrow buried itself into the tree behind him with a thud.

"I thought you were going to be more careful," he teased gently. "In case you hit a deer with friends, or a mother duck."

"I knew it was you," she said with a sarcastic smile.

It wasn't fair. She had accepted that he didn't want to be with her, and she was trying to get over it. Trying so hard and yet, when he spoke to her with his calm Calishite voice her heart still fluttered. It would be so much easier once he was gone.

"I came to say goodbye," he said quietly.

"You are not going to the Friendly Arm after all?" she asked. Her heart sank but she felt relieved at the same time.

"I am, but you mean to run as soon as we get there," he said. "I saw how you were packing, taking your own rations and separating your portion of the party gold. You were going to slip away without saying anything weren't you?"

Arrow nodded and turned away. The lump of misery was rising in her throat again. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight back the tears but they leaked out anyway. Quickly she started striding away into the woods, refusing to let him see her crying over him. Especially in this state, looking the way she did now. She didn't want him to know how much she cared about him. She could accept that she would never be the object of his desire but she could not bear to be the object of his pity.

"Arowan," he said pleadingly. She stopped but did not turn around. "It is not safe on the roads alone, or to be wandering alone in a city when you have never experienced one before. The rest of the party will disperse when we reach the Friendly Arm. I beg of you, let me accompany you as far as Baldur's Gate. I will take you as far as Freya and then… and then you will never have to see me again. I promise."

"I'm going to have to kill him Rasaad," she said in a shaky voice. "My testimony will be Eric's death sentence. I know he deserves it but… how can I live with the guilt?"

She turned and found the monk standing much closer to her than she had realised. He pulled her into his arms and she buried her face into his chest, crying silently and hating herself for it.

"I know," he said, stroking her head where her hair used to be. And he did know. He had to live with knowing that he had killed his brother, and it had changed him. Before he had been ready to turn his back on the monastery and live his own life. Now he was so convinced that he was one bad choice away from becoming Gamaz that he had rededicated himself to Selune and was about to sail out of her life for good.

"Rasaad?" she said seriously. It would be painful to say what she wanted to say, but she hoped it might spare the next woman in his life from going through this. After all, wasn't suffering in another's place holy?

"Yes?"

"You are not cut out to be a monk," she said flatly. His heart started to hammer uncontrollably. Trying to talk him out of it instead of stoical acceptance was such an un-Arrow thing to do that it had not even occurred to him to think of how he would respond if she did. That was not where she was going however. "Some day when you are back home in Calimport, you are going to meet someone." She straightened his shirt where her crying had crumpled it. "When you do, don't reject her because you're afraid you'll turn into Gamaz if you let your spiritual guard down. Gamaz was…"

"Evil?" sighed Rasaad heavily.

"Not exactly," she said and paused. Later, Arrow would look back on this moment and bitterly regret not just telling him the truth about his brother's addiction to numbing potions. All she could think though, was that if he felt guilty about his brother's death now, how much would it crush him to know that the other monk had not been wholly in control of his actions at the time? "Gamaz was sick. Incurably sick, in his mind, and his sickness made him do terrible things. I think the real Gamaz, in his right mind, would be grateful to you for stopping him."

"Who but you would be so forgiving to his memory after everything he did to you? Promise me you will not go to Baldur's Gate alone," he begged, "If anything happened to you, I could not bear it."

"I promise," said Arrow. He held her, and they stayed like that for a long time. She felt his chest rise and fall with his breath against her cheek and listened to the rhythmic beating of his heart through his thin shirt, until the cold finally drove them back to their tents.

Arrow was somewhat surprised to find Viconia sleeping solidly in the women's tent. She had been expecting drow and wizard to take the opportunity to sneak off somewhere together, but it seemed Xan was still sulking about the succubus.

In this, at least, Ilmater had to approve of her actions. She had saved Viconia, taken her in and suffered bitterly for it. One day more and she would leave at last of her own volition, at least as safe with Xan as she would have been with her. In this at least, her conscience was clear.


	31. The Friendly Arm Inn

The sun set over the Friendly Arm's battlements, bathing the walls in a welcoming golden glow. Even the drow could not begrudge the existence of the sky on such a pleasant evening as this. She still felt as though she might fall into it, but if she did, she would land on soft pillows of purple cloud.

Jaheira transformed into a large wolf and gambolled alongside Arrow, easily outpacing her. The grey fur looked near ginger in this light. It seemed that the wig transformed with her, since her head was fully furred, but down her back were long-stiffened burn scars. It must be wonderfully liberating, to turn into such a fast, powerful creature at will and just run through the wilds in whichever direction your whim took you. Though generally not interested in practising magic herself, it made the ranger smile.

"I so wish I could do that," she remarked to Khalid.

"It is h- handy in battle," he replied. Arrow shrugged and nodded, though she was more used to seeing Jaheira adopt the form of a bear than a wolf when she wished to inflict serious damage.

"I meant just running around as a wolf for the sheer joy of it," said Arrow. She laughed and shook her head as Jaheira leapt lightly over a fallen log.

"She is incredible isn't she?" sighed Khalid proudly as his wife streaked across the fields in a flash of grey fur. "It takes years of bonding with nature to gain the powers of a druid. Though I am sure she would teach you if you wished."

"I fear the preservation of nature and an Ilmatari's duty to provide for the poor, though both noble causes are often at odds," laughed Arrow. "Perhaps when we get to Baldur's Gate I should ask Freya to bite me instead. Become a wolf the fast way!"

Khalid shook his head. Although his hair was not yet long enough to flop around his face the way it used to, he was not so very different looking anymore. Not so much that it would take anyone who knew him by surprise. It lifted Arrow's mood. Her body would recover and so would her spirit. She could leave adventuring behind her, at least the part of it that involved dungeons, and take up the position she had been offered as ranger of the Cloud Peak villages.

"I kn- know you are joking Arowan," said Khalid seriously, "But lycanthropy is a v- very different thing. It is a d- difficult illness to manage."

"Freya seems to have it in hand," said Arrow lightly. "Gorion had Selunite monks living in Candlekeep with her for years, they practically raised her. I can feel her bloodlust sometimes, when I see her in dreams, but they trained her to control it with meditation."

To her surprise, Khalid gripped her arm and looked at his ward very seriously. There was a definite flicker of worry behind his warm fatherly eyes.

"The fact that it took y- years of training by two dedicated therapists and ongoing meditation just to maintain basic self-control, ought to tell you something Arowan," he said. "Were-infections are serious! The vast majority of victims become violently unstable. They have my s- sympathy but the fact remains that they are extremely d- d- dangerous. Especially this one. I respect Gorion but I c- cannot imagine what he was thinking when he used m- magical tomes to make a w- w- werewolf even _more_ of a risk to those around her than she already was."

"I'll be careful around Freya," Arrow promised, "But I don't plan to stay long in Baldur's Gate in any case. I still mean to accept the ranger position in the Cloud Peaks."

"Good," said Khalid, emphatically. "Both your brother and your s- sister strike me as people to avoid."

As they approached the great iron gates, Viconia became edgy and wrapped Arrow's headscarf tighter around her face. The guards recognized Khalid and Jaheira however, so paid little attention to their companions.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold than a shadow streaked across the courtyard toward them. Fearing some sort of shade or demon, Arrow reached for her quiver, but found the tips of the guards' longswords pointed at her nose. She lowered her weapon gingerly and raised her hands.

"Oi! Don't you be hurting our Cat!" one of the guards commanded gruffly.

Arrow crouched down to look at the animal, which was winding itself around Viconia's legs and purring. On closer inspection it was a strange looking kitty with black Sharran markings in her dark grey fur and solid black eyeballs. She reached out gingerly to pet her furry head. Viconia scooped the fluffy creature up in her arms and carried it to the inn, the rest of the party walking in formation around her to shield her from view.

They settled at a circular table in a discrete corner of the large Inn. The Harpers went to the barkeep, a gnome called Bentley Mirrorshade. Arrow had met him once before, soon after she had first left Candlekeep, but only briefly and she doubted that she had left much of an impression. Nevertheless she was grateful to the Mirrorshades for adopting Cat, since there was no way they would have been able to take her with them to the Sharran temple where Gamaz had broken her human mind. Khalid and Jaheira brought over their drinks, and Viconia let Cat take licks of wine from her goblet.

Bentley's wife Gellana, who ran the neighbouring temple came to sit with them. In such close proximity it was impossible to disguise the fact that Viconia was a drow, but the gnome seemed to take the view that if she had Cat's approval then she too would give her the benefit of the doubt.

"We tried to restore Cat's mind but in the end it seemed kinder to just polymorph her and let her be a regular cat," the gnome shrugged. "She seems happy enough. The patrons spoil her rotten and she is a vicious mouser."

Arrow scratched Cat absent mindedly behind her furry ears. In her former life this creature had been a high priestess of Tempus, but Rasaad's brother had mutilated her body and shredded her mind beyond restoration. These days her only battles were with the rats in the Friendly Arm kitchens. She retained enough remnants of her brainwashing to unconditionally love all followers of Shar and the kitty would not be shifted from Viconia's lap, where she kneaded her thigh with her paws purring contentedly.

"Um... D- do you let her wander about the grounds as a feline?" inquired Khalid awkwardly, "Isn't that a bit r- r- risky?" They looked at him blankly. What possible threat could this adorable furball pose to anything larger than a hamster? And who would hurt her when the guards were so fond of her? Khalid swallowed. "K- K- Kittens," he coughed, embarrassed.

"Yuck!" cried Arrow. Gellana still looked totally lost. Khalid turned scarlet and opened and shut his mouth, as embarrassed as when Jaheira had forced him to give Rasaad a sex education lesson. She decided to help him, especially since it afforded her the opportunity to slip in a play on words. "Stop _pussyfooting_ around! What Dad means to say is that she may be mentally cat enough to mate with another cat, but is still human enough that she really shouldn't."

"An a- _paw_ -ling notion," said Xan, in perfect deadpan.

"Er... actually we had not considered that," admitted Gellana. "You make a very good point. We ought to put up some wards. Keep the local tom cats away from her. Fun though a race of semi-sentient cat people might be to have around, the process really doesn't bear thinking about."

They ate their meal with lukewarm enthusiasm. Like many gnomes, Bentley was of the opinion that one could never have too much turnip in a meal. Even in the dessert course. The Harpers were happy to catch up with their old friends and spent the evening in a lively conversation that nobody else had much to contribute to. The others had little to say to each other, especially Arrow, who was counting down the hours until she could get shot of all four of them. Edwin, however, had other ideas.

"So, tell me Arowan," the Thayan said, drumming his long fingers together, "Why do you not give away all of your possessions like the malodorous hermit?"

"That has always been a philosophical bone of contention amongst the followers of Ilmater," replied Arrow. "The difficulty with giving away literally everything, is that you lose the means to support yourself and become a burden upon the poor rather than an aid."

"Sounds like an excuse for weak faith to me," said Viconia, hostilely.

"If I were to sell my bow and arrows and give the gold to the poor I would be unable to hunt, so I would have to beg. Within just a few meals I would have taken more from others than the bow was worth. Is that the right thing to do?"

"Your friend the hermit back there would say yes," said Viconia.

"I disagree," replied Arrow simply.

"You chose a bad example. You never catch us anything to eat with your bow," cut in Xan. "A scrawny rabbit or two from the snares, if that."

Arrow sighed disinterestedly and shook her head. She was leaving in the morning, what was the point of engaging them? She would never have to set eyes on the hateful little Sharran or her whinging boyfriend again, and bloody good riddance.

"All of this is truly intriguing," said Edwin, adding to himself, "Yes smile and nod… smile and nod… take an interest… I would love to hear more about these gods of yours. Much more, before I could ever choose between them."

Xan was able to contain himself no longer.

"Are you three utter idiots?" he blasted, rounding on Arrow, Rasaad and Viconia. "This man has no interest in Shar or Selune and especially not in Ilmater! He is trying to trick you into thinking you have a chance of converting him so that you'll take him to Baldur's Gate to meet Freya's group!"

"And why would I do such a thing?" protested Edwin, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocent bemusement.

"So that you can murder this Dynaheir woman, which is what you've wanted all along!" bellowed Xan. Viconia put a hand on his arm to hush him. Other customers were starting to look their way and she had no desire to draw their attention. Many soldiers and adventurers would love to be able to boast of having slain a real live drow.

"This may be true," said Rasaad reasonably, "But it is a long journey to Baldur's Gate. Perhaps what began as a treacherous scheme may, given time, lead him into the light."

"Or the shadows," chipped in Viconia.

"Hang on, who said anything about taking him to Baldur's Gate?" asked Arrow, alarmed.

"I would hear more about the glory of Ilmater…" wheedled Edwin, coaxingly.

"Oh no you don't!" the ranger cut him off. "Not a chance! We let you come with us this far because you said you'd stay and book passage to Thay and that is exactly what you are going to do. Seriously, Edwin, how stupid do you think I am?"

The truthful answer to this was ' _extremely_ ' but Edwin bit his tongue. Xan shot him a smug look and the Thayan bristled.

"But Baldur's Gate is the nearest major port!" protested Edwin, truthfully. "Not to mention Odesseiron, that it has been some time since a woman was blessed with a demonstration of your sexual prowess. The halfling made your tent as comfortable as the best room in the inn, perhaps with instruction this bald one could replicate her services. Physically underwhelming females do often make up for it in their eagerness to please…"

"Urgh! Why don't you just give up on this whole Dynaheir-murdering thing and go find Alora?" suggested Arrow, irritated. She was under no illusions as to her level of personal attractiveness which hovered around average at the best of times, and had taken a major dip since her makeover in Gamaz's dungeon. This did not mean that she appreciated the man's unsolicited critique. "You obviously want to."

"I do not want to!" Edwin insisted pompously. "A halfling is not a suitable long-term prospect. She lacked the requisite beauty, elegance and sophistication needed by a concubine of Thay… No Edwin, with her by your side you could never show your face in public again."

"Then you must have been very fond of her to date her anyway," Arrow remarked acidly.

"That," mused Edwin nostalgically, "And the fact that the crack in her cleavage was exactly at a level with my-"

"Forget I asked!" cried Arrow exasperatedly. "What is it with all these old people wanting to tell me about their revolting sex lives?"

"Old?!" Jaheira, Edwin and Viconia spluttered together indignantly. Khalid's lip twitched and his eye twinkled.

Keen to make her escape before this conversation got any worse, Arrow made her excuses and went to bed. She had been hoping that she might get a room to herself, but one last time to conserve their gold, Jaheira had opted for twin rooms pairing her with Viconia and Xan with Rasaad, (Edwin was left to make his own arrangements). Well no matter, she could suck it up for one more night.

"Selune has blessed us with a mild evening," said Rasaad, "And it has been too long since I had a chance to meditate in the balm of her light. If you would excuse me."

He got up and went outside. Xan glared after him for a moment. Then cleric and wizard bid the Harpers goodnight and ascended the stairs away from the noise and bustle of the bar. Viconia took especial care to keep her face hidden from the other customers. There were rules around fighting in the Friendly Arm but neither she nor Xan trusted the other patrons to stick to them. They could always pretend that the drow struck first, and doubtless be believed. Or wait for them to leave the sanctuary of the fortress and follow them out to murder them on the road.

They retreated to Xan and Rasaad's room. It seemed unlikely that the monk would return for some time. It was a comfortable, though somewhat basic room with a small fireplace at one end and two single beds at the other. Viconia slumped down on one of them looking sulky. Xan strode over to the window and peered out, watching the torches flicker outside with a gloomy expression.

"Can we go now?" asked Viconia, pulling the uncomfortable headscarf from her face. Xan said nothing. "Am I to take it from your silence that you have changed your mind?"

"Do you really find that man attractive?" he demanded, tearing his gaze from the window.

"This is about Rasaad and that succubus isn't it?" sighed Viconia, rolling her eyes. "And yes. Frankly Xan, most women are going to find the moon-male desirable. He is very… large."

"His brain isn't," muttered Xan, arms folded.

"I thought you liked him," she replied dryly.

"Not as much as you do apparently."

Viconia let out an impatient hissing noise.

"I would not be behaving like this had the succubus made you kiss the female rivvil!" she snapped. Xan believed her, but not in the way she meant. Had their positions been reversed he suspected that he would have met a swift and painful demise on the end of her flaming sword. That was beside the point however.

"I would no more kiss Arrow than I would Rasaad," he muttered resentfully. "They're carved from the same block. Nice but dim. As religious fanatics tend to be."

Viconia clenched her fist in rage and stormed toward the door. Xan stayed where he was, fuming. His remark about 'religious fanatics' was not intentionally directed at the cleric, though naturally she had taken it that way. He was not about to apologise though, especially since she hadn't.

"Don't be ridiculous Viconia! Obviously, I wasn't talking about you: I said 'nice!'" he snapped. "And if it isn't the monk it's Edwin dribbling like a hungry dog without a word of discouragement from you!"

"You actually think to act possessive? Of _me?_ " screeched Viconia, thundering back into the room and shoving his shoulder. "Arrogant male! If I wished to bed the Thayan I would. I will make use of whomever I please for sex, I do not answer to you!"

"If someone to use for sex is all you want then by all means 'bed the Thayan,'" Xan yelled.

"'Ere! What's all this racket then?"

To their alarm the door swung open and a chambermaid entered mop first. Viconia froze. The headscarf that had been concealing her lay abandoned on the bed, though at least she had not got around to removing her gloves and hood. She was about to spin around and bury her face into the nearest duvet, no doubt arousing suspicion by doing so, when Xan pulled her into a kiss, obscuring her face.

"Go- mmph- away woman!" mumbled Xan, not breaking apart. Catching on, Viconia snaked her arms around his back and wrapped her leg around his thighs. Though this was primarily to get rid of the nosey caretaker, she could feel through his robes that he was not entirely faking.

"You alright miss?" the booming woman persisted, barging fully into the room.

"Begone peasant!" snarled Viconia, keeping her face pressed to Xan's so that the woman wouldn't see, though she bit on his lip sharply to let him know that he was not forgiven. The cleaner shuffled out, muttering at the pair of them to keep it down if they did not wish to be disturbed.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Viconia slapped Xan's face and shoved him away from her with all her strength. He stumbled back onto the bed, but was on his feet again in seconds looking at her with burning eyes.

"How dare you!" she spat.

"I'd dare a lot more than that!" he retorted. He crossed the room in two short strides and the next thing she knew he was cupping her face. She had seen that sort of fire in a male's expression before, though never in one who behaved toward her with such open defiance. She kissed him again, forcefully, then broke off looking furious with herself.

"Feeble dathiir, you wouldn't even know what to do with me!" she challenged him. "I expect after one night in my bed I would have to take you to the temple and have you revived all over again!"

"I'm ready to risk it!" insisted Xan. "I'd risk anything for you!"

The last time he had uttered words like that he had been leaving his home in Evereska. Hard to believe looking back that it was the same man. A talented but overconfident mage, chosen to wield a moonblade and ready to take on the world in spite of the dangers. He had forgotten what it was like to feel like that, until now.

_"But how did that work out?"_ a voice rang in his head.

Viconia stared at him in frozen indignation.

"Since you are obviously at a loss for words, shall I just assume that you are thinking something mean?" asked Xan. His heart was racing. He knew, deep down, that even without the racial enmity between elves and drow, this was a bad idea. The brief windows of respite that they had shared on neutral ground with their books and conversations would be eclipsed by relentless persecution wherever they went. Then there was her attitude to men in general. When they were not fighting their enemies they would certainly be fighting each other.

He had just made up his mind to bite the bullet and flee, when Viconia made up her mind too, and jumped him. Xan crashed back into the narrow bed, landing with her straddling him. She was magnificent, her silver hair spilling out of her hood, long toned legs digging into his flank just a little too tightly. Her perfect, haughty face glared down at him, daring him to do anything but love her.

It was no use, the elf surrendered. Not a lifetime of studied rationality, common sense, nor even his basic drive of self-preservation had any place in this room. He was her willing slave and that was all there was to it.

Several doors down the corridor, Arrow was lying in bed, drifting on the edge of sleep when to her irritation there was a rap at the door.

"What?" she snapped.

"Please forgive the intrusion but, erm..." It was Rasaad. He shuffled into the room and shut the door behind him. His face was red under his swirling tattoos and for some reason he looked extremely sheepish. "Might I borrow a few gold pieces until tomorrow morning? Viconia has evicted me from my room, but unfortunately I left my possessions in there while I went to perform my evening rituals… including my gold"

"So tell her to get stuffed!" grumbled Arrow.

"Well, paraphrasing slightly that was, in fact, the general gist of my response," Rasaad mumbled.

"And...?" asked Arrow, giving up on sleep for the time being and propping herself up on one elbow. This caused her blanket to slip. The nightgown it revealed, belonging as it did to an Ilmatari, actually covered rather more of her than many adventurers' day clothes would. Nevertheless the monk looked away respectfully.

"She forced me out," he confessed apologetically.

"How?" frowned Arrow. Considering the sheer size difference between monk and cleric it was difficult to envisage her forcing him to do anything.

"She took her clothes off."

"Ah," replied Arrow. There was a short but uncomfortable silence.

"I am ashamed to admit that I fled the confrontation leaving Xan behind," the monk admitted shamefacedly. "I know not what she did to him."

"I think I could probably hazard a guess," said Arrow with a half-smile. "By the time you book another room I'll already be asleep and I don't plan on wasting time hunting the inn for you in the morning. I'm leaving at first light. If you still insist on coming with me, you'd better sleep here."

Rasaad hesitated.

"Arrow, if I do that the others will think..." he began tentatively. Despite his best efforts not to think about the ranger in that way it was difficult not to in a situation like this. It occurred to him that there was a slim, _a very slim,_ chance that this might be an invitation. Adrenaline coursed through him and his body began to respond against his will.

"I think the lectures that the others gave us made it pretty unambiguous that they already think that, don't you?" sighed Arrow. "Don't fret about it. Selune knows that you, of all people, would never do anything like that."

She waved a hand at the bed on the opposite side of the room, and turned over to go back to sleep, apparently indifferent as to whether he stayed or not. Rasaad felt stung by her statement though he struggled to put his finger on quite why. Nevertheless he stripped down to his small clothes and climbed into the bed. It was very cold.

Arrow buried her face into the pillow, pleased at how her heart rate had remained normal throughout the whole conversation. She had not felt anything at all. She must finally, mercifully be getting over her stupid crush on the monk. She smiled and drifted off, but her feeling of calm did not last. Freya, it seemed, had finally cornered her prey.

She was striding toward a great underground temple, lit with an unnatural magical light. The unpleasant fug in the air suggested that they were near the sewers of Baldur's Gate. Her party; Coran, Safana, Imoen, Minsc and Dynaheir were behind her. Though most of their faces displayed mingled trepidation and anticipation at the fight ahead, there was something very off about the way Safana kept looking at her leader. Waiting at the temple door was a young woman, whom Arrow recognised as Sarevok's lover from Candlekeep, Tamoko.

Why she had come out to face Freya alone, Arrow could not fathom. The desperate sadness in her dark eyes made it clear that Tamoko knew full well that this was suicide. Though she had no personal connection to the woman, Arrow did know that she had been tired of Sarevok's schemes and she hoped that the beautiful golden werewolf might talk her out of fighting. It was a vain hope. Freya did not share Arrow's ethical qualms when it came to killing people she felt deserved it. Her sister had demonstrated as much when she tried to hang Eric and she showed it again now.

There was a silvery flash of two blades swung in a crossing motion. Before the unfortunate Tamoko could even open her mouth, her head was rolling away down the temple steps, having parted company with her body. Arrow gagged a little. Killing was something that Arrow always went out of her way to avoid, and when she had no choice she would do her best to ensure that the person was revived. She knew not all of her party shared her scruples but none of them had ever cut another person down with such ruthless determination. Even for Viconia there was some passion in it. Arrow had only ever known two others to kill like that. Her brother Eric and Sarevok.

Freya kicked in the door (unnecessarily since it was not locked, but it did make for a more dramatic entrance) her boot slamming into the symbol of Bhaal as she did so. Inside was a great hall with a bloodstained alter, though there was no way to tell how old the stains were. Hideous warped statues grinned down at the party. The skull symbol of Bhaal was engraved everywhere. Horrifying though it was, there was something about their father's house that felt oddly familiar. Almost like… home.

"You are indeed family, no other could have lived to oppose me in person," a deep, gloating voice sailed from the altar. There he was. Sarevok. Vast, armoured and radiating an aura of command and power. The man who had slain Gorion. Out of his many crimes, her guardian's murder was the one Arrow was least inclined to hold against him. From what Imoen had told her about how close Freya and Gorion had been, her sister probably took a different view.

It suddenly occurred to Arrow that she had a great deal riding on the outcome of this battle. In all likelihood her very life. She could tell, just by looking at Sarevok, that despite the experience she had gained on her travels she had no more hope of defeating him than she would if pitched against Freya, Eric or the Hooded Man. If Freya lost tonight they would come after her next, guided by Eric's visions, and she would not have a hope. Not unless Ilmater himself were to descend from the higher planes and come in person to her aid.

"You are even madder than my other brother," snarled Freya, "I'll see you both to dust before the week is out."

' _Other brother,'_ said Arrow aloud. So Sarevok was another Bhaalspawn. Imoen had mentioned that there might be others. Sarevok must be one who had not been raised in Candlekeep. His soul had not been shaved like a gold coin to collect enough little fragments to make a whole new one for Imoen. She hoped this intactness did not give him the upper hand over Freya.

"No sister," he declared, "Ultimately I will prevail and a new era will be born unto the realms. Father Bhaal is dead but the slaughter I orchestrate will-"

"You murdered my Dad!" barked Freya, "I'm here to kill you, not listen to you monologue!"

"Dad? I assume you mean Gorion?" he sneered. "Ironic that you'd go to such lengths to avenge a man who thought so little of you. I know about the magical tomes he made you read. I dug out their empty husks in Candlekeep. Tomes to make you stronger, smarter, more likeable. Without them you would never have been able to defeat me. You were so weak that he had to enhance you just to keep you alive. Why was that do you suppose?"

"Kinda feels like you answered your own question there," said Freya between gritted teeth.

"Wait, you had access to wisdom and intelligence tomes and you're _still_ as thick as a brick?" exclaimed Safana in disbelief. "Good gods Freya, how fucking dumb must you have been to start with?"

"Not the time for it Safana," muttered Coran.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" Safana screeched. "AFTER WHAT YOU TWO DID!"

Dynaheir stepped forward and whispered in Safana's ear to calm down, at least until after they had dealt with Sarevok. Arrow frowned. It was a dangerous time for party disputes. Even she and Viconia had managed to shelve their differences when facing the Demon Knight (more or less). Safana, however was looking at Freya with such a wildly angry expression that it made her seem positively deranged.

"You're assuming that I'm still fighting on the werewolf's side!" the thief spat, but she said it quietly. "I've half a mind to backstab her myself."

Dynaheir nodded sympathetically. From time to time in her visions, Arrow had got a sense that Safana's digs at Freya were not entirely friendly banter. However, in these latest visions, the tone had shifted markedly. Something had clearly happened to turn the two women's rivalry into open hostility. It sounded very much to Arrow as if it had something to do with their travelling companion, the formerly-female elf.

The two warring Bhaalspawn were not interested in Safana, however. Freya and Sarevok had eyes only for each other. Murderous eyes. Sarevok's eyes glowed with the same unnatural light that surrounded the temple. Perhaps he had made some deeper connection to his Bhaal heritage, or maybe he had enchanted them to look that way to intimidate his enemies. Freya's eyes were natural and grey but feral.

"I suppose with your... condition... Daddy didn't think you could cope in the big wide world without magical enhancement?" The armoured man was taunting her.

A muscle spasmed across Freya's face at this, and her jaw clenched tighter. Arrow could tell that Sarevok had struck upon a nerve.

"Shut up and die already!" she roared, her voice growing hoarser and teeth lengthening as she spoke. Arrow could not tell whether she was transforming voluntarily or if rage had overpowered her, but the werewolf charged forward in a dazzling blur of gold.

Sarevok's minions and Freya's party engaged each other. Soon clouds of poisonous mist obscured everything on the temple floor save the flashing lights of spells. The two Bhaalspawn were raised above it, battling to the death upon the blood-soaked altar of their father.

Imoen once told her that Gorion had created her in part to prevent his wards from turning on each other when they grew up. At the time neither girl could see why he would think this outcome likely. Arrow had thought it nothing more than a potentially useful side effect of patching little fragments of their souls together to make Imoen. Yet as she watched Freya and Sarevok rip into each other, it struck Arrow that Bhaal was the god of murder. Perhaps Gorion had understood that this is what he had intended for his children all along.

Sarevok's sword cut a deep gash into the werewolf's shoulder, staining her golden fur with deep, red blood. He paid for his short-lived success dearly though, as Freya's long, savage fangs plunged into his sword arm and pulled. There was a hideous ripping noise, just like when the doppelganger had torn apart Montaron, and the gnolls had savaged Draxle. He screamed and tried to beat her off of him as she twisted and yanked until cartilage was poking out and his arm was connected only by strands of exposed muscle.

" _Gorion didn't want us to know that the rest of us existed because of this,"_ Arrow thought, _"And it has already started. I'm disgusted by my brother and jealous of my sister. I've never even met them, and part of me already wants them dead! This is the will of Bhaal, and I won't surrender to it. I will not let Freya execute Eric!"_

The werewolf let go and backed off a few paces, licking blood from her chops. Very occasionally, Arrow felt strong emotions from Eric and Freya in her dreams, and this was one of those times. The blood, the human blood was everything. It filled her senses and canine brain, clouding her thoughts and leaving only a desire for _more._

For the first time, Sarevok actually looked a bit scared. The fingers of his remaining arm brushed the neck of a healing potion. Without it he would be unable to wield his sword and would have no chance. Yet looking at the ravenous wolf, it was clear what would happen as soon as he tipped his head back to consume it. There was no other option for him though, no other hope. He uncorked the potion and as fast as he could threw back his head to down it. He wasn't fast enough.

The instant his pulsing neck was exposed, the wolf lost all self-control. She flung herself at it, plunging in her teeth, revelling in the satisfying feeling of his windpipe crunching in her jaw. The half-drunk potion making its way to his stomach delayed the moment of his death, giving Freya time to savour the blood pouring over her tongue.

She released him and he fell forward. At once Freya plunged in her snout, scrabbling at the join in his armour with her claws. She was trying to wedge her mouth in, making little snapping motions with her teeth. Arrow really understood now what Khalid had meant about werewolves. Freya had defeated Sarevok, but now she had lost control of the wolf and it was trying frantically to eat her brother.

Fortunately his armour was largely preventing this, but she managed to gain purchase on a pinch of flesh and tear it out. It was only a tiny piece but Arrow could feel her sister's satisfaction and pleasure as she swallowed. Blood gurgled through the join and Freya started slurping it up with her long red tongue as Sarevok twitched. She had been too distracted to notice that the battle had ended and Dynaheir was shooing away the last of the toxic clouds with her spells. Several of Sarevok's followers lay dead. Others, it seemed, had fled at the defeat of their master. Freya's party had all survived and were healing themselves with potions, though the three thieves were staring at their feeding leader with increasingly horrified expressions.

Coran began backing off, motioning the others toward the door, but quietly so as not to attract the wolf's attention. She had turned Sarevok over with her muzzle and was just opening her mouth for a fresh assault on his neck, when the Bhaalspawn finally died. He exploded in a cloud of golden dust, fanning out around the altar, and was no more.

Freya howled in frustration deprived of her meal. Arrow felt a spike of fury and violent bloodlust. The wolf crouched low upon the altar, grey eyes flashing, and looked down at her own party with an expression that could only be described as hungry.

The others were looking petrified now, and all their weapons but Imoen's were trained on Freya. They could not possibly outrun her and if it came to a fight the odds of them all surviving were low. Despite the overpowering need for flesh, however, the wolf did not pounce. She stayed on the altar, pawing forward and back, shaking her golden head and growling as though in pain. Human Freya was fighting the wolf.

Minsc bent down gently, put his tiny hamster on the ground and nudged it in the direction of the altar. Brave little Boo seemed to know what to do, and Arrow wondered if perhaps this was not the first time they'd had to deal with Freya in this state. The hamster ascended the blood-stained slab and scampered onto one of the werewolf's enormous front paws. It seemed to help bring her back to her senses. Her growl quietened, morphed into more of a whine and then ceased. Hands and knees on the altar Freya, finally victorious, resumed her human form.

The rest of the party relaxed and looked around with shell-shocked faces at the carnage they had wrought. Boo skittered to the floor and back into the hands of a relieved Minsc. There was blood everywhere, running into little gutters in the marble floor which seemed to have been designed for this purpose. Coran stumbled over to check that Safana was ok, and was rewarded by a vicious scratch to his cheek.

Above it all stood Freya on the altar, a sword in each hand drenched in Tamoko's blood, staring grimly ahead of her. She already looked like a death-goddess as she jumped down in a shower of her brother's golden dust. Her footsteps echoed, purposeful and assertive in the chamber. She approached her followers, who stared at her in silent awe, awaiting the demigod's command.

"Anyone got anything to drink?" Freya asked in a dazed, hopeful voice, and just like that the illusion of divinity was broken.

"I think I have some poisons in my backpack?" suggested Safana helpfully.

"Just look at all this loot!" gasped Imoen. Freya's traumatized face split into a grin. Coran's eyes were dancing with greed. He swept up a gem bag from one of Sarevok's fallen lackeys and peeked inside. Reflected lights danced on the elf's face and his jaw dropped. Even Safana's expression softened at all the lovely shinies.

Arrow woke with a gasp. Despite knowing that she had to fight the urge Bhaal had placed in her to destroy her sibling rivals, she felt a great surge of joy and relief. Sarevok, one of the strongest among them, was dead! In fact, she had felt like this every time one of her siblings had died in her visions, but until now she had excused herself on the basis of not knowing that they were real people. She knew she should feel disgusted with herself for taking pleasure in someone's death, but she didn't! She found herself revelling in it. Glowing.

Sarevok was dead! What a shame Freya had managed to get a grip on herself, her own party might have finished her off at the same time. Maybe one day…

"Arrow! What is it? What is wrong?" Rasaad was calling her in his gentle, reassuring voice. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him. Sitting beside her, Rasaad allowed himself to pretend, just for a moment, that they had woken up in the same bed together. It was wrong to think such things, but the mental image would comfort him for some time afterwards.


	32. A Slave or a Pet?

Viconia shut the bedroom door assertively and locked it with a click. The room was growing darker but flickering light from their candles traced the curves of her hips and chest. The long silvery hair hung around her shoulders like quicksilver, and Xan could never grow tired of watching the way it moved. A triumphant smile played over her lips. Poor Rasaad. Xan had never seen a man run so fast as when she started to lift her tunic.

Xan, on the other hand, had nothing to lose. He was a doomed man anyway, a weak representative of a dying culture. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. Either he could go home and spend the next few centuries watching the slow decline of his people, or he could run away with Viconia and meet a violent death upon the road. At least with option two they got to have this first.

Viconia crushed her lips over his, tearing off his cloak and letting it drop to the floor. Her red eyes narrowed at the clasps holding on his robes as though they had personally offended her with their existence and she released them one by one. The brush of her fingers against his chest caused his breath to quicken. He hastily tugged off his gloves and dropped them behind his back, leaving them on the floor in an ever-growing pool of clothes.

"Where will we go male?" she demanded.

"Doesn't matter," Xan replied, struggling out of his unbuttoned robes. It was the first time that Viconia had seen him fully unclothed. She had accidentally-on-purpose stumbled upon Rasaad bathing once, but Xan was more cautious about being crept up on and had managed to prevent her doing the same to him. She did not immediately get chance to make a proper assessment however, because he drew her close to him.

He kissed, more than ever, like a man who believed that the seconds of his life were ticking down. The brush of them was rough and hungry. He was warmer than she was, and she pressed into him, finding comfort in the heat. Her bare breasts pressing against his skin was almost more than he could stand, and he stroked her back, letting out a soft moan of pleasure. Viconia pushed back his brown hair with her fingers. It was not so silky as that of a drow, but it was at least clean and soft.

They stumbled onto one of the room's single beds. It was very small. Quickly they rose and pushed the two beds together, and by unspoken agreement sat down on the edge to remove the rest of their clothes. Viconia looked at Xan appraisingly and he swallowed with nerves. It never occurred to her that he might fund anything wanting with what he was seeing. Why would it? She was physical perfection.

Xan on the other hand… well she'd had better, but more often she'd had worse. Especially in recent years. His frame was rather skinny, not like Rasaad, who reminded her fondly of the pleasure slaves back home in Menzoberranzan. She would envy Arowan the fun of breaking that one in, were it not for the fact that the little rivvil allowed him to run rings around her. The worst part was that he was not even trying to! Bringing him into line would be the work of a day, two days at most, with firm handling. As for Xan, well, he could stand to be bigger in areas other than his muscles, though better slightly too small than too large. Overall, nothing to set the world on fire, but acceptable.

More importantly, she could depend wholly upon his loyalty. He would follow her, keep her alive and do as instructed. Physically he was an infinite upgrade on the merchants she had travelled with when she first fled to the surface. And as a travelling companion it was much better to have a devoted follower than to be led herself. Especially by Jaheira. She enjoyed his company too. No doubt at some point in the future she would have to rid herself of him like she had her other husbands. Even the best males tended to come with an expiry date. Yet it would be in the _far_ distant future.

She slipped her arms around Xan and kissed his neck. He exhaled slowly, just enjoying the gentle touch and feel of her breath against him. He buried his face into her hair, and stroked one of her breasts, appreciating the firm weight of it in his hand. He brushed a thumb lightly over her nipple earning him a gasp that he suspected might be slightly exaggerated. He knew that Viconia prided herself on her abilities in this department. In fact were she a man and not so stunning, her boasting might not be so dissimilar to Edwin's. Nevertheless, it was clear that she regarded sex as at least as much a performance art as an act of intimacy. That would make genuinely pleasing her more difficult, but he was determined to try.

He kissed lower, working his tongue slowly from her neck, over her collarbone and lingering over her chest. There he would have been quite happy to stay indefinitely, but instead he continued down until he reached the small patch of silver curls between her legs. Viconia nodded curtly, and shifted one leg up, winding it around his back. He grasped it in one hand and kissed her inner thigh hungrily before returning to the task at hand.

Predictably, she started gasping the instant the tip of his tongue made contact with her clit. Xan sighed inwardly. No doubt this routine of exaggerating her lovers' skills made most of them feel as though their chests would burst with pride. Sadly for Xan, intelligence and perceptiveness could sometimes be a curse, and he had enough experience to know that 'Press Here for Orgasm' was not how women's bodies really worked. He persisted even so, gently flicking his tongue back and forth, while tracing her entrance with one finger.

To Viconia's surprise (she had envisaged surface elf sex as eye contactless, soundless missionary performed through a hole cut in the blankets) she soon found acting unnecessary. Her moans became softer and more genuine and her breathing quickened. She lay back, relaxing under his mouth and forgetting, temporarily, that she needed to provide an experience to him mind-blowing enough that he would follow her to the ends of Faerun and die for her if necessary.

Not to mention intimidate him. Sex, her matron mother had advised her from her youth, was as much about establishing dominance over your males and ensuring their obedience as it was about having fun. She would certainly come back to this later though, once Xan had been properly brought to heel. With a last happy sigh, she wriggled out from under him. For a moment he looked as though he might protest their switching positions but she quickly changed his mind, fastening her mouth over him and swirling the head with her tongue. He closed his eyes and threw his head back with a moan.

Downstairs in the bar, three of the party were still awake. Or at least two were awake and one was sleeping at a table in the corner beside a dying candle. Edwin had not, by any stretch, given up on his goal of getting Arrow to take him to Freya's party. If she would not do it willingly then he would follow her. How could she prevent it? It was a public road and he was as entitled to walk it as she was. Then he could charm the wretched woman once they reached Baldur's Gate, and Dynaheir would finally be within his grasp.

If he could find a way to get the Soultaker dagger back from Rasaad first, that would be a bonus, but best not to push his luck. He couldn't risk going to bed though. These physical, overactive, primitive types tended to be early risers. Who knew what time she and the monk would set out? He certainly didn't trust them to tell him, so he waited, sleeping at his table with his eyes facing the door.

This had not gone unnoticed by the Harpers, but unfortunately there was little they could do about it. As expected, Bentley had informed them that they were needed elsewhere. As soon as the others had left the dinner table, their friendly small talk with the Mirrorshades had turned serious. Trouble was brewing in the North, trouble that the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate might be ill equipped to handle in light of the current political difficulties. Khalid and Jaheira were both relieved that their ward intended her stay in the city to be a brief one. Civil war, it seemed, was a real possibility if the Dukes could not get a grip on their falling popularity. Khalid and Jaheira would breathe easier with their adopted daughter safely packed off to the Cloud Peaks with nothing scarier to deal with than the occasional troll.

Upstairs, while Rasaad and Arrow's room boasted no noise save the sound of light snoring, Xan and Viconia's was filled with moans of pleasure. The pair of them were reigning it in somewhat, for fear of the matronly cleaner returning with her mop, but not much. The cleric had straddled Xan and was moving in a slow steady rhythm, which the wizard kept throwing off as his hips bucked involuntarily. She enjoyed the unexpected movement at random intervals, digging her fingers into his chest.

Viconia looked down and smiled. Xan's head was thrown back, eyes closed in an expression of ecstasy. She sped up, bringing him rapidly to his peak. He was clinging to her waist as though his life depended on it. He looked… pretty… like this with his hair loose and self-restraint gone. She couldn't resist leaning down to kiss him deeply.

" _Careful,"_ she told herself, _"Don't get too attached to your males, it makes it harder when you need to dispose of them. Like livestock."_

She flipped onto her back. The elf had lasted rather longer than she had been expecting and her legs were getting tired. He responded with frantic enthusiasm and gritted his teeth together with a low moan as he thrust. Sensing that he was near his climax, Viconia started the excessive howling again, but Xan was past caring. He cried out and came, shuddering down the length of his body, before collapsing onto one arm, panting.

Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew, opening his eyes to look searchingly into hers. She smiled at him. Were he drow, at this point she would congratulate him on an adequate first performance. From the reaction of previous surface partners, however, she had discovered that honest assessments tended to hurt their egos. She settled for brushing his cheek instead, subtly adjusting her head position to show off her stunning face from the best angle.

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," he whispered. "Whatever horrors we face out there, I will stand by you, even though it will more than likely mean my death. Viconia… I'm in love with you"

She nodded in satisfaction. Well of course he was! Who wouldn't be after a night with her, especially a man whose only previous experience was with dull, Evereskan weeds? There was still a lot of work to do. He remained annoyingly possessive and she expected the next morning he would not even bring her breakfast without prompting, but these flaws were fixable. They were off to a good start. Xan was still looking at her and his brow was starting to furrow. Was she supposed to say something back at this point? What?

"That's adorable!" she replied, lifting her head to kiss his nose. Xan blinked in shock and clambered off her hastily.

"That's... that's _it_?" he stammered.

Viconia didn't understand. Her male had acknowledged her obvious superiority and pledged his loyalty as was right and proper. She had accepted and refrained from disembowelling him for his insolence... which was really quite a concession considering.

"I am tired now," she declared. "You may rub my shoulders if you like."

She rolled onto her front and flopped her head down on her arms. Her male _was_ rubbing her shoulders as commanded, though he was doing a rather lazy job of it. Still she was too sleepy to correct him, and drifted off.

Xan was sitting hunched up, hugging his knees with one hand and stroking Viconia's back mechanically with the other. He had told her he loved her, loved her enough to lay down his life for her and she thought it was _cute?_ What was he to her? A slave? A pet?

It wasn't long before Viconia started breathing heavily and he settled down himself, drawing the sheets up to his chin. He lay facing away from her. Not for the first time it took him a long while to get to sleep, as his mind raced with anxiety.

Rasaad, on the other hand, had no difficulty getting back to sleep after Arrow's vision woke him. In fact, he slept rather too well because when the first light of dawn crept over his face waking him up, the ranger was already dressed. She had stopped bothering with the headscarf, he noticed, now that she had regained enough hair to cover her scalp. He had adored her hair and at first, truthfully, he had found her less attractive without it. That had been something of a relief. It had certainly made his decision to return to Calimport easier. Unfortunately, as he got used to it, his old feelings had returned with a vengeance. He was even beginning to doubt his own motives for safeguarding Arrow until she reached Freya.

"Meet you downstairs," she said, fastening her buckle. Rasaad noticed that she was still wearing the inflatable belt he had gifted her early in their friendship. Maybe it was more habit than a conscious decision, but it made him feel a little better. She didn't despise him enough to get rid of it even though, as he had learnt since, she was a strong swimmer and had no real need of it. At least they were still friends.

He had not removed his small clothes since the previous evening. This was because his night clothes were still in the room he was supposed to be sharing with Xan. He washed hastily in the shallow basin, finished dressing and was about to head downstairs when he realised with a sinking feeling that everything of worth he owned was in Xan's room. He would have preferred to wait for the elves to get up before retrieving his belongings, but if he did that, Arrow was certain to leave and take the dangerous road to Baldur's Gate all by herself. There was nothing for it.

He padded over to the room, winced, and raised his fist to knock. Before he could, however, Xan let out an unearthly screech.

"ARRRRGHHHH! NO, PLEASE, NOOOO!"

Rasaad jumped and forced the door off of its hinges with a spinning kick. He had been mistaken to abandon his friend last night and leave him at the mercy of the drow! In truth he had suspected that the pair might have been about to embark on a romantic relationship but clearly this was nothing more than a ruse on her part to attack the wizard.

He looked around the room anxiously, expecting to find Viconia finally making good on her long-standing threat to skewer Xan on the end of her flaming sword. Yet as he absorbed the scene it soon became apparent that the cleric was not the source of his distress.

Viconia sat up with a start, pulling her sheets over her chest, looking first frightened and then furious. Xan, on the other hand was already awake and trying to detach Cat from his face. The cunning feline had found her way into the sleeping couple's room, doubtless in search of her beloved Viconia, and decided that the wizard's face would make a suitable sleeping place. To make it worse she, like most real cats, liked to knead her spots with paws and claws before settling. The wizard had woken up to pain and a solid black pair of eyes, and assumed a demon had snuck up from the hell planes to assault him in his sleep.

"Don't hurt her!" snapped Viconia, as Xan tried to remove the offending feline. Cat was digging her claws into his brown hair and clinging on for dear life. Rasaad's eyes took in the two beds shoved together, and the unclothed state of its occupants and turned a ghastly shade of maroon.

"I am so sorry," he spluttered. "You screamed and- I- well- Arrow and I are leaving! Had to get my pack! Goodbye!"

He seized his bag, which mercifully he had never got around to unpacking and fled down the stairs, Viconia's curses following him. As he reached the landing below, there was a mewling hiss of protest, and Cat almost landed on his head. Apparently Xan had freed himself of the creature and hurled her down the stairs after him, because Viconia was berating her love for being cruel to her sweet baby. The 'sweet baby' fixed Rasaad with her black eyes, made a noise like a possessed cobra and fled for the sanctuary of the Friendly Arm kitchens, never to be seen by the adventurers again. Praised be Selune that he would never have to see Viconia or Xan again either!

Arrow was waiting downstairs with the Harpers, with Edwin lurking to one side. To his relief they were ready to set off immediately and they meandered out into the courtyard. Much though the ranger would miss her parents, her first feeling on stepping out into the brisk morning air was an uncharitable joy at no longer having to deal with Viconia. Rasaad was pleased about this too, though for different reasons. Coupled with mortified embarrassment, the monk felt just a twinge of jealousy toward Xan. He had made his choice and would stick with it and yet… there was no doubt that the wizard had a much better night than he did in his chilly single bed.

No doubt in anyone's mind, that is, except the wizard himself. Upstairs he and Viconia were locked in a dispute so bitter, it made the elf wish that they could go back to being mere enemies.

"I do not understand what your problem is!" Viconia snapped impatiently.

"The worst part is you probably really don't," Xan sighed. "I'm sorry Viconia, I don't know why I thought this could work."

Viconia shook her head in mixed panic and disbelief, as the elf hastily gathered his things. He was seemingly about to split up with her having slept with her only once. In the normal scheme of things such an incomprehensible insult would have earned him a quick and savage death, but this was potentially life-threatening to her! She had not only burned her bridges with the Treehuggers, but pissed on them afterwards. Still, nothing would induce her to stoop to begging one of her own males. She was a disgraced exile, but she had not sunk so low as that!

"What is the matter with you, mad darthiir?" she demanded.

"I… Is that a serious question?" Xan asked despairingly. "I tell you I love you and that I'm ready to give up my people, my reputation and in all likelihood even my life for you and your response is, 'that's adorable?"

"Aww did I hurt your feelings?" she mocked cruelly.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"You're even weaker than I had thought!" Viconia raged. "Get out! Out!"

Xan snatched up his clothes and belongings and fled the room. As soon as he turned the corner he muttered an invisibility spell and vanished, wishing he could remain like that forever. Viconia stood in the bedroom, panting with fury. She seized an empty contraceptive potion from the night before and hurled it at the wall in fury, where it exploded in a shower of broken glass. Then she took a deep breath and pulled herself together, because without Xan there was only one option. As unpalatable as it was, if she wanted to survive she would be forced to make her peace with Arowan.

Fortunately for her, the ranger had not yet departed. She was saying her goodbyes to Khalid and Jaheira at the gates of the Friendly Arm. Khalid was taking the opportunity, once again, to voice his concerns about Freya.

"You don't have to tell me," Arrow grinned, "I plan on spending as little time in her company as possible. Let's face it, anyone who is friends with that sadistic freak Jessa Vai is not likely to become a friend of mine!"

"We'll probably be in Baldur's Gate in a fortnight or so, but we'll write to you when we have a better idea," her father said fondly. Khalid mussed up her short hair and rolled his eyes, remembering Arrow getting roaring drunk and almost starting a tavern brawl with the bandit scalp collector. To be fair, she had a point, but picking fights with the Flaming Fist was never a sensible thing to do.

"I am sorry that I will have to break my promise to go wig shopping together," said Jaheira, cuddling Arrow goodbye. "Remember the name of the shop though, 'Jessa's Hair Emporium.' It's where I got this one and I promise you, you won't find better."

Arrow and Khalid froze. The women were still hugging, but peeking over Jaheira's shoulder, her eyes locked with his in an expression of ice-cold horror.

" _Jessa's_ Hair Emporium?" Arrow echoed.

"Mmm hmm," said Jaheira, oblivious.

"I'll remember," said Arrow, her voice rising in an overly cheerful tone. Khalid looked positively panic stricken. "Erm… Khalid, before you go could you and I possibly have a quick word?"

It was hardly subtle, in fact Arrow could not believe her luck that they got away with it. Unbeknownst to father and daughter, there was a reason that Jaheira did not question this odd and abrupt request for privacy. Soon they would all be in Baldur's Gate and that meant reuniting with Imoen. She had long suspected Imoen's unrequited feelings for Khalid and assumed that the girl had confided in Arrow, who now meant to give her husband a discrete heads-up. All to the good. It would save her having to do it herself.

Arrow, who had no more notion of Imoen's feelings than Khalid himself, was in fact discussing nothing of the sort. They retreated hastily into the shadows of a turret, ignoring Rasaad who was watching them curiously. The ranger mimed banging her head against the stonework.

"Well now we know what Officer Vai was collecting all those bandit scalps for," she said dryly.

"Fuck," Khalid said simply. Arrow had never heard him swear like that before. It sounded so weirdly stilted and unnatural that she giggled. Khalid smacked his armoured fist against the wall causing a piece of mortar to crumble loose. "This isn't f- funny Arrow! When Jaheira finds out she's been walking around wearing a human scalp for the past year she will b- b- burn Jessa's Hair Emporium to the ground!"

"You're not seriously suggesting we tell her, are you?" Arrow spluttered. "I was just going to report Vai and let the Flaming Fist deal with it!"

There was a sound of footsteps running hastily across the courtyard, disturbing the chickens who scattered in all directions with disgruntled clucking. They ignored them, trying desperately to think what to do. Khalid was fiddling with the hilt of his sword as he always did when he felt anxious, while Arrow nibbled off a couple of fingernails.

"I'm not sure reporting her will do any good," fretted Khalid, "Vai's part of the Fist, and they look after their own. Besides t- technically I'm not sure she has broken any actual l- l- laws. Those scalps were acquired legally."

"Hypothetically what would happen if Ma _did_ burn down the shop?" ventured Arrow. Khalid gave her a dark look.

"If she touches Officer Vai, they'll probably hang her."

"Damn!" replied Arrow, scouring her brain for a non-violent solution.

"There are other wig makers," said Khalid. "I'll have to persuade Jaheira to use one of those. She's due a new one anyway, but it won't be easy. She swears by Jessa's!"

"No..." said Arrow slowly. "Actually I think I _will_ go to Jessa's Hair Emporium." Khalid looked horrified. A slight smile was tugging subtly at the corners of her mouth. "Not to buy… Just to try some wigs on… See how they feel. I take it they don't put on those expensive enchantments until after the wig is sold?"

She was thinking of how little care Jaheira's wig required, having never seen her wash it. Not even back in Beregost when their real hair had become infected, but that shouldn't be a problem if the hair was enchanted _after…_

"No, the spells have to be tailored to the individual otherwise they wouldn't fit as well, but why...?"

"And kobolds shouldn't be hard to find in Baldur's Gate, right?" she asked slyly.

Khalid frowned at Arrow as though she were losing her mind. At the gate, they could hear Jaheira shouting at someone, but this was hardly a rare occurrence. They knew from long experience that unless the word she was yelling was 'help' there was no need to intervene.

"The sewers are infested with them," Khalid replied, "But what do kobolds have to do with...?"

"One more question," said Arrow with a devilish smile. "Does Jaheira still have some of that orange potion leftover for curing kobold lice?"

Slowly, very slowly, Khalid grinned.

"Excuse me?" interrupted Rasaad hesitantly. "I think we may have a problem."

They returned to the gate to see Jaheira locked in a full-blown argument with Edwin and, to Arrow's immense displeasure, Viconia. Taking advantage of the distraction, Khalid snuck the louse killer potion out of Jaheira's bag and into Arrow's.

"No!" the druid thundered, her face the essence of irritability. "We cannot take you where we are going and would not if we could! Goodbye Rasaad. Arrow, we will see you soon. Khalid come!" She turned and huffed away in long strides, using her heavy oak staff as a walking stick.

G- goodbye Rasaad!" called Khalid, hurrying after his wife. "Good luck on the v- voyage back to Calimport."

"Alright Rasaad let's go," said Arrow hastily, turning and setting off in the opposite direction to the Harpers, hoping against hope that if she did not invite Edwin and Viconia to speak, then perhaps they wouldn't.

"Wait!" cried Viconia. Arrow did not look back but sped up, pretending to herself that the cleric was talking to somebody else. "Arowan please, I have nowhere to go! If you send me out alone, I'll die!"

Arrow let out a groan from the very depths of her gut. Were she the follower of any other deity, she would be fully justified in capitulating to her heartfelt desire to walk away. Yet the drow was almost certainly right. Alone on the surface she had nearly been cut-down without trial before. It was only a matter of time before somebody would try to butcher her again.

"I hate you so much!" Arrow thundered, unable to restrain all of her furious disappointment. She had been so very close to getting shot of the wretched woman once and for all. "Why aren't you leaving with Xan? You didn't murder him already did you?"

Buried in the sarcasm was a genuine note of concern. She didn't _think_ Viconia would kill the wizard but at the same time she would not one hundred percent put it past her. Nevertheless she stopped and turned around. She would do her best to keep the cleric safe until she could find a better protector but at the same time, she did not wish to encourage her presence a moment longer than was absolutely necessary.

"He… he left me," Viconia said quietly.

Against her better judgement, Arrow felt herself soften a little. Being used for sex and then dumped must be a horrible feeling. It was not something she would ever have expected Xan to do, but then she had no experience with these things. Jaheira had warned her that nobody ever expects that to happen. The kind of people who screw and run _must_ be adept at convincing others that they are not that kind of person. Otherwise when would they ever get the opportunity? Some of her pity evaporated rapidly when Rasaad took it upon himself to hug Viconia better. Yet Ilmater was watching.

"Ok Viconia," she sighed.

So the shrunken party of Arrow, Rasaad and Viconia headed North to Baldur's Gate. Edwin was not part of the group, but he followed along the same road and since there was little they could do to prevent this, they allowed him to share their camp at night. The road was quiet, save for the pleasant chirping of birds. Had the Red Wizard chosen to listen to them, instead of the sound of his own muttering, he might have heard another set of footsteps not far from his own. Xan, still invisible, was also taking the Northern road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mulahey's lice... the gifts that keep on giving. <3


	33. Baldur's Gate

"Viconia, you put me in mind of the elegant and accomplished ladies of my homeland," said Edwin. "Unlike the other women I have met in this cesspit of savages, you are able to converse as one sentient creature to another. I find it quite refreshing."

Arrow was too distracted to even register the insult. She was crossing the bridge to Baldur's Gate, her first entrance into a real city. The noise and the smell were beyond anything she could have imagined possible. There were so many people, animals and trundling carts barging past each other to get in and out that she was almost continually being brushed by strangers. It must be prime hunting ground for pickpockets. Her hand reached for her gold pouch to find it already gone. She moaned.

"I have it," called Rasaad loudly, making her jump. The monk rarely raised his voice, never mind shouted like this, but it was necessary to make himself heard. To her right, a cart-ox hauling barrels of 'Nashkel Taverns: Hand-Crafted Bespoke House Ale,' deposited its own contribution to the stench. Nobody paid it any attention, and the endless flow of boots, hooves and wheels just trampled it into the ground along with the rest of the filth. Rasaad half-smiled apologetically. "There were at least three urchins eyeing it up that I could see. I thought I had better remove it before somebody else did."

To her surprise, Rasaad looked the happiest she had seen him in a long time. He really seemed at home here in what, to Arrow, was little short of a pocket-hell. The monk had grown up on the streets of Calimport, and had apparently not forgotten how to pickpocket, though it was a skill that he no longer exercised. He must have been quite adept at it once, because she had not felt a thing. Edwin also seemed unperturbed by the scale of the city, though he was complaining bitterly about the 'mindless rabble' clogging up the streets.

Only Viconia looked as reluctant to enter the city as Arrow was, and perhaps with better reason. If she had been unsafe in Beregost, she must be in orders of magnitude more danger here, passing under the collective glare of hundreds of pairs of eyes. Her hood was down and Arrow's headscarf wound tightly about her face. She was fortunate in that a Thayan and a Calishite man were walking with her. It meant that the few commoners paying enough attention to notice her unusual mode of dress just shrugged to themselves and assumed it was the fashion wherever she was from.

Near the gates the flow started to slow down, though the push from people coming up behind did not lessen. The result was that everyone was rather compressed against the people around them. A handful of harassed-looking Flaming Fist guards were conducting bag searches and inspecting people's faces on the way in. Every so often, somebody would be dragged to one side for a more detailed interrogation. Viconia looked panicked, and the crowd were getting angry and impatient.

"Oh fer gawds sake!" grumbled the owner of the beer cart in a heavy Nashkel accent. "This is what, now? Day four? Me delivery is going to be late. I was hanging back hoping it'd get better, but it didn't, and I got to get these barrels to the Ducal Palace."

"They don't normally do these searches?" asked Rasaad, curiously.

"Nah," he grumbled. "Some mad wizard came in on a boat a few days back. Every officer in the Flaming Fist couldn't dent him. They locked up his apprentice, but all they could do to the master was drive him off. I heard even the Hero of Baldur's Gate only managed a scratch."

"Sounds scary," said the ranger. This was not news to the party, in fact Arrow had seen it first hand, but explaining to a stranger about her sibling dreams would be pointless.

"It is!" the beer-trader nodded, "But I hardly see how all this nonsense helps. If he turns up at the gates now how are them five officers going to stop him when five-hundred couldn't before?"

"What did they do with the apprentice?" she asked nervously. She would not put it past Freya to have Eric bumped off quietly if she thought she could get away with it. She looked up at the imposing stone walls of the city with its turrets and iron barred windows. Perhaps Eric was chained up in one of them, awaiting his fate on the cold brick floor. At least that would be better than shivering in a dungeon somewhere.

Before he could answer, there was a commotion from behind them. A horse-drawn periwinkle blue carriage with ornate silver filigree was rumbling along the bridge. In front and behind were burly guards. Though their uniforms were of the same delicate blue, they themselves were anything but dainty. They carried chunky halberds which they used to sweep the commoners aside. At least they were refraining from using the sharp ends, though Arrow felt as though the threat was definitely implied. Their behaviour stirred up a significant amount of ill feeling from the crowd, and before long they were not only hurling insults but vegetables and manure scooped from the ground. The beer-seller was not participating, though he did seem annoyed.

"Won't do ter piss them off," he muttered, more to himself than to Arrow. "They're me patrons now."

"Well if that carriage ever shows up in Nashkel get them a Bespoke Hand-Crafted Ale on me, would you?" said Arrow darkly. "And make it a special. Like the one you served to Jaheira the last time we were there."

"What was special about…?" Rasaad began, then paused and frowned at Arrow disapprovingly. "Never mind, I remember now."

"Eh?" blinked the beer-man. Then his face split into a broad smile. "I know you!" he laughed. "You're the ranger from that weird adventuring party. The group with the bloody awful druid! I didn't half feel sorry for the lot of you, especially her husband. Ha! I didn't recognise you what with your new haircut and all."

"Don't apologise, it took me a while too," admitted Arrow. "You meet so many different people in our types of jobs."

"That you do, but that Jaheira is one I won't forget in a hurry." He shuddered. "My name is Bernard, what's yours? I didn't catch it last time."

"Arrow," she said offering her hand.

"Arrow the ranger," he mused slowly. "That does ring a bell." Then he laughed again, a sudden booming laugh. "Your ma called you Arrow and you grew up to be a ranger? That's handy!"

"It's short for Arowan," she replied. She was about to tell him the short anecdote of how the monks had given her the nickname when they caught her playing with arrows, but suddenly the cart driver pulled up the reigns. The ox made a low, grouchy snort and clopped to a halt. Arrow got the impression that it was banging the cart and cargo around more than necessary on purpose. The animal had a malevolent looking disposition.

"Arowan?" Bernard boomed. " _That_  Arowan?"

"Arrow, quiet the rivvil!" hissed Viconia urgently, "He is drawing attention to us!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Arrow flatly.

"The Flaming Fist are looking everywhere for you!" he cried. At the mention of soldiers looking for them, Viconia started searching around frantically for a means of escape but the crowd pressed in from every direction. She was still wanted by the Flaming Fist herself. "Are you here to testify against the mad wizard's apprentice?"

"I'm here for Eric's trial, yes," replied Arrow, choosing her words carefully.

"Thank the gods for that!" Bernard declared in his deep, booming voice. "Once you tell them what he did they'll hang the little bastard and hopefully open the gates again! 'ERE! EVERYBODY MAKE WAY!"

At first the crowd did not make way, since there was not really anywhere for them to go, but as word got around of who she was, they crushed themselves as far against the bridge walls as they could in order to let the cart by. No doubt they, like Bernard, were hoping that Eric's death would put an end to the searches and alleviate the traffic problems.

As they neared the officers, they were approached by an angry-looking woman. She had short dark hair, in a cut that Arrow thought she might like to copy when her own hair grew out (since a wig was no longer an option). Her eyes were stormy dark and transparently hostile. Arrow felt Viconia practically burrowing behind her in an effort not to be seen.

"So! You're Freya's little friend, are you?" she barked at Arrow. She had a hard, throaty voice, and there was something in the way she spat Freya's name that suggested not everybody in Baldur's Gate was a fan. "You came. I thought it'd take them weeks to fetch you."

"Friend is a strong word," replied Arrow, starchily. "And obviously I came. It isn't like you people were going to give me a choice."

"Well I'm bringing you to Duke Silvershield myself," she declared. "Corwin's the name, and with any luck when I hand you over, he'll let me off of bridge-detail. Been at it for days now, and before that it was weeks of hunting missing people in the sewers thanks to that… that woman."

"What happened?" asked Rasaad conversationally.

"And did you happen to run across any kobolds while you were in the sewers?" added Arrow.

"Kobolds? Of course, I ran into kobolds, the blasted vermin are as common as rats. What are you a naturalist or something?" snapped Corwin, "I mean I've heard of bird-watching but kobolds?"

"Not important," said Arrow hastily, as Rasaad raised a confused eyebrow. "You were saying about Freya landing you on bridge duty?"

"You don't want to know," said Corwin darkly. "All I'll say is never accept a drink from her or that slimy elf she hangs out with, that's my advice to you. Right. Enough chat. To the Ducal Palace!"

"Did you say the Ducal Palace…? 'ERE! ME TOO! I'M WITH 'EM!" hollered Bernard. Arrow narrowed her eyes. "Come on, help an old pal out," he pleaded quietly. "This delivery is a big deal for me! That nastiness with the Nashkel mines almost finished me business, but if I can put 'By Commission of the Grand Dukes' on me ales I'll be the most popular tavern on the Southern road! I'll get to keep me Inn!"

Arrow smiled. She liked Bernard and besides, climbing up amongst the beer barrels would put a nice distance between herself and all the sweaty, jostling flesh rubbing up against her.

"Alright," she said. "As long as we can ride on your cart. Do you know much about the city? Tell me, where could I find Jessa's Hair Emporium and (totally unrelated) a pack of sewer kobolds?"

"What is this obsession you have with kobolds?" snapped Corwin throatily.

Rasaad looked as though he would quite like to know this too, but she shook her head at him repressively. She did not want to tell him about her designs on Jessa's Hair Emporium until they were out of earshot of Corwin. As a fellow member of the Flaming Fist, the risk of her tipping her fellow officer off was too great. She scrambled up a barrel and, with some reluctance on Arrow's part, the two of them reached down to pull up Viconia.

"What about him, is he with you too?" demanded Corwin, pointing at Edwin.

"Absolutely not," replied Arrow firmly.

Edwin blustered and protested but it did no good. Although he had as much right to enter the city as anybody else, the Flaming Fist officers demanded that he get back in line. When he refused, the disgruntled crowd enthusiastically assisted in correcting the would-be line-jumper, lifting him above their heads and passing him back to the other side of the bridge on their many hands. The Thayan squirmed and raged, demanding to be unhanded all the way, earning himself some pinches and smacks that he might have otherwise avoided.

"Are you sure that dropping the wizard is wise?" muttered Viconia, as their cart rattled through the gates. "He was our last one."

"Very sure," said Arrow, staring grimly ahead. It was no secret that she would have liked to leave Viconia back on the bridge too. The monk, however, was more sympathetic to Viconia's plight. He had kept his distance from her since his brother's death in the Cloud Peaks, wanting nothing more to do with the followers of Shar. She had been furious with him ever since the unfortunate incident with the succubus in Durlag's tower. Much to Arrow's annoyance however, the pair of them seemed to be patching up their differences.

"I am sorry that Xan left," said Rasaad to the cleric.

"He was your tent pal for a long time," remarked Arrow. "I am sure you will miss him."

She would miss his presence too, though not to the extent of losing any sleep over it. In truth Xan and Arrow had little to bond over. His book learning was somewhat intimidating to the ranger, who was herself only semi-literate. Moreover, while he was polite enough not to be overt with his scepticism, Arrow suspected that he privately looked down on her religious beliefs. She would miss Xan, but only in the way one might miss a comfortable old dressing gown that had fallen apart.

" _Wait why am I discouraging this?_ " she thought. " _If Rasaad and Viconia bond there's a chance she might follow him to Calimport instead of plaguing me!"_

To say that this idea did not distress her would be a lie. In truth just thinking about it made her feel as though a great blanket of misery was folding around her, trapping her like a rabbit in a sack and yet… she would never see Rasaad again anyway and a few days of crying seemed a small price to pay to avoid months or even years of being tailed everywhere by Viconia.

The cart rattled through the street, which became mercifully less congested once they rode clear of the gates. They trundled on past the hollering merchants, commoners and giggling shoeless urchins playing in the street. Rasaad smiled fondly at them, reminded of himself and his brother in Calimport.

"Spare a penny miss!" called a man. Arrow looked down, at an emaciated, unshaven man sitting in the gutter. He had a crutch leaning beside him and only one leg. His clothes were damp and filthy and the ranger felt her heart break. She vaulted down from the cart, landing with a splash in a puddle which wasn't rain and slipped the beggar a hundred gold coins. "Thank you ma'am, thank you," he muttered quietly. His eyes had widened at the sight of so much gold, but he knew better than to broadcast his good fortune, or someone on these streets would be sure to take it from him.

"You are a fool!" snapped Viconia impatiently as Arrow clambered back up. The ranger gave her a look. If anyone was being foolish, it was the cleric for starting to insult her already when her survival depended upon protection that Arrow had no desire to provide. The drow seemed to belatedly remember this fact, and she modified her tone accordingly. "I simply meant that he was sitting on his other leg to curry your sympathy so that you would give him your gold."

"I am well aware that the man had two legs," Arrow replied curtly. "That does not mean he did not need the gold. He is sitting in filth, soaking wet as night approaches. Why would you do that if you weren't desperate?"

"Arrow is correct," observed Rasaad. "My brother and I would play similar tricks from time to time. I once cried to a stranger about how much I missed my mother. I am ashamed to say it was a lie to garner sympathy-money, I never knew her. Yet despite our duplicity, the fact remained that we needed the coins desperately."

"How is it possible that you two soft-hearted do-gooders yet survive?" muttered Viconia.

"Nobody is forcing you to stay with us," Arrow replied. "You are free to leave whenever you please. But I wouldn't advise it. I doubt you'll last long here without the group's protection."

"The group is splintering," Viconia pointed out. "Xan has left, the Harpers are planning an extended vacation, you just rejected Edwin and you and the moon child are not getting on so well of late. You can't protect me on your own."

Arrow and Rasaad avoided each other's eyes. They had been getting on a little better recently, in so far as she had stopped actively avoiding him. Still the monk suspected, correctly, that her new-found tolerance had a lot to do with the fact that he would very soon be gone. The last person in the world the ranger felt like discussing this with was Viconia, so she promptly changed the subject.

"I was… surprised Xan left," said Arrow, though what she really meant was that she was surprised Xan had left without Viconia.

"If you are looking to replace him," snapped the drow viciously, "There are hundreds of kobolds skulking in the sewers beneath our feet. Any one of them would make a worthier travelling companion than that gutless darthiir."

"Okie dokie then," replied Arrow, who was not really that interested. She took a deep breath and made a difficult suggestion. "Viconia, I will be returning to the Cloud Peaks shortly to take up their job offer. It might not be a smart destination for you. When the priests of Tempus come back to reclaim Gamaz's temple, they are not going to tolerate another follower of Shar hanging around." Her stomach felt as though it was tying itself into painful knots but she persevered. "It might be more sensible if you went to Calimport instead, with Rasaad."

She avoided looking at Rasaad, if she did the tears she was fighting back might really fall. Yet it was a pain worth enduring if it meant getting rid of Viconia. She had hardly endeared herself to the ranger during their travels. The cleric was abrasive, spiteful, constantly complaining and walked around with a massive superiority complex. Worse, Arrow could not entirely shake the feeling that Rasaad had always liked her far more than he let on… but it wasn't just that. Over time, Arrow knew that she would get over Rasaad, and eventually meet someone else. When she did, she would rather it not be with a single Viconia in tow.

Before Rasaad could explain why taking a Sharran into a Sun Soul temple was completely out of the question, Bernard hauled on the cart reigns and they all jolted forward. They looked up at the fancy building, surprised that it opened directly onto the street. It struck the party that the lack of a physical boundary between the palace and the thousands of thieves swarming the city must pose a huge risk. No doubt this explained why the Flaming Fist were patrolling around the roof, street and balconies like marching ants.

"Alright! We're here!" announced Corwin, thrusting Arrow down from the cart with a hard shove. The ranger stumbled down, landing on her hands in the dirt. She looked up at Corwin and scowled, but opted not to make an issue out of it. Rasaad and Viconia followed, while Bernard was shooed away to the tradesfolks' entrance. He beamed and trotted his cart away with a friendly wave. Arrow smiled back and raised her grubby palm in farewell.

They stepped nervously into the palace after Corwin. Arrow felt uncomfortably self-conscious about her ungroomed appearance. A red velvet carpet, which had seen better days, led up the stairs. Distinctive boot prints of varying colours of mud, grass and sewer waste had been stamped up and down them by someone with very large feet. By the looks of things the staff had given up trying to clean them.

On the second-floor landing, they passed a man and a woman yelling at each other. Arrow recognised them immediately as the two thieves who travelled with Freya. She might have considered stopping to introduce herself, or at least ask where Imoen was, but they seemed to be immersed in a blazing row and didn't notice her.

"So, you prefer her to me?" Safana demanded furiously.

"No my love! Of course I don't," Coran pleaded, "For one thing you'd never make me wear that cursed girdle!"

"What's wrong with that? Two women in bed not doing as much for you as you imagined it would?" she sneered.

"I never imagined one of those two women would be me!" he moaned miserably, burrowing his head into his hands.

Corwin was eyeing up Coran with something approaching hatred. Arrow sped past her, forcing her to break away and follow. It didn't seem like the sort of conversation that they ought to interrupt. Portraits of puffy aristocrats in expensive clothes gazed snootily at them from the walls. There was something glimmering everywhere Arrow looked, from the gold gilded bannister to the glittering chandeliers shining above each landing. They reached an ornately carved oaken door with a guard standing to attention before it.

"Aren't you supposed to be on bridge detail?" the young woman sneered at Corwin.

"Might I remind you," replied the lieutenant between gritted teeth, "That I have not been demoted. I am still your superior officer and I will likely be here long after that mad bitch has died choking on a piece of doggy kibble, now stand aside!"

The guard smirked at her, and slunk to one side, leaving Corwin to heave the door open herself. Arrow followed her in and gasped. For someone who couldn't read the entire suite of rooms was imposingly literary. Mahogany shelves stacked with leathery books lined the walls to the left and right. At the head of a long banqueting table a vast oil portrait of a doe-eyed young woman playing a lyre gazed soulfully down at her.

The room was quite crowded, with soldiers in various stages of drunkenness milling in and out of the bedrooms. All the doors were wedged open except that of the master bedroom nearest the door which was locked. Rasaad and Viconia followed her, peering curiously about them. The solid silver tableware sparkled in the candlelight and even the napkins had been hand embroidered with a family crest. Arrow recognized the symbol. It was the same one that Duke Silvershield's men had been wearing in her visions. They must be in his private suite.

She began to feel quite queasy with nerves, but her unease was nothing compared to Viconia's. Surrounded by so many Flaming Fist officers, the drow looked as though she might flee at any moment. Arowan could always hope.

A tall woman with broad shoulders was lounging back on one of the chairs with her back to the door. She had a beer in one hand and in the other the curvy waist of a Flaming Fist guard who was perched precariously on her lap. Her muddy boots were crossed over the Duke's solid oak table, and her long golden hair fell like a curtain down the back of her chair. She was singing loudly. Arrow did not recognise the tune, but the lyrics were very rude indeed. The guard on her knee saw them come in and tapped Freya. The werewolf stopped singing and looked over her shoulder, grinning.

Arrow felt a jolt like a bolt of lightning running through her insides. It was very strange to meet in the waking world someone she had only ever seen in dreams and pictures. In her darkest moments she had always feared that there must be something terribly wrong with her brain to conjure up such violent scenes and horrible people. In some ways this concrete proof that they had been real all along was a profound relief.

This pleasant feeling was to prove short-lived.

"Bugger a goat, you're Arowan!" the blonde woman cried, shoving the disgruntled guard off her lap and rising to shake Arrow's hand. She had one of those unnecessarily assertive handshakes that left Arrow's fingers crushed and elbow sore. "Have a drink! You too monk." She draped an arm around Rasaad's shoulders, to his mild alarm. "Damn, that was some messed up crap in the mountains wasn't it? Sorry about that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Rasaad stiffly. Freya pushed her own ale mug into his hand and waved her palm vaguely until one of the guards supplied her a fresh one. Viconia was squinting at Freya. It was the first time she had seen her in the flesh, but she was every bit as beautiful as her wanted poster had depicted her.

"Little sister told you about our weird Bhaalspawn dream-link right?" she said, gesturing at Arrow. "I saw the whole thing like I was floating above it. I can't imagine how it must feel having to kill your own brother."

"You know exactly how it feels to kill your own brother. With excessive brutality as I recall," retorted Arrow. "You'd probably have eaten him if he hadn't dusted!"

"Who? You mean Sarevok?" The werewolf tossed back her blonde head with a bark of laughter. "The world is better off without that miserable sod! Besides, turns out I have plenty more brothers and sisters. Speaking of which… Imoen! Hey Imoen!"

Freya raised her voice for those last three words, making the trio jump. Hers was a hoarse and grainy voice, with a very canine quality. It was so forceful when she projected it that for a moment Arrow imagined that the floor was shaking. There was a pounding of feet up the stairs and Arrow's heart rose a little as Imoen stumbled through the door, with Coran and Safana close behind. At first the ranger was rather hurt that the pink-haired girl wasn't happier to see her, but then she remembered why she was there. Her presence could mean Eric's death.

"Imoen! We've got a family reunion! I think this calls for a drink!" Freya cried jovially.

"Already I'm starting to understand why Gorion thought sibling murder was a strong possibility in our family," Arrow muttered darkly to Rasaad. The monk allowed himself a little chuckle.

"Is there anything, one single paltry thing in this life or the next, that you don't think calls for a drink?" asked Safana acidly.

There was an awkward silence. Suddenly all the officers and Coran too, started to take an intense interest in the bookshelves. One of them even went so far as to attempt to take out a book, only to discover that the shelf he had chosen was really a convincing painting. Arrow idly took another look at the portrait of the lady strumming her harp with long, delicate fingers. The portrait was interesting, but unfortunately not distracting enough to block out the rest of the two women's conversation.

"Enough with the snarky comments already, Safana. If we're going to keep travelling together you need to let this go," Freya sighed.

"Let it go?" the thief raged in a half-scream, "You had sex with my boyfriend!"

"In my defence, he wasn't exactly your ' _boy_ '-friend at the time," said Freya, flashing a disarming smile that the thief clearly did not appreciate.

Coran's lip actually twitched up in amusement at this, but he still sidled to the door and made a strategic exit. He caught Arrow's eye as he paused in the doorway, and acknowledged her with a small bow before disappearing.

Safana made a noise like a steaming kettle. Viconia looked the thief up and down, and immediately concluded that she was wrong to attempt to compete with her leader. Though not as charismatic as the golden werewolf, she was certainly attractive enough to tame a few loyal followers. That wasn't the issue. The problem was that Freya was easily twice Safana's weight even untransformed and could probably squash her with one paw. Safana was clearly not in a rational mood however. She was eyeing Freya with an expression of pure loathing.

"Come on Saffy," pleaded Freya, "I was really drunk! And seriously, if you'd seen Coran naked as a woman, you'd have gone to bed with him too. I mean damn! If I'd have gone too deep into his cleavage, you'd have had to send in a search party! It's a tragic bloody waste that he was born a man."

Despite Freya's optimism, Arrow would not bet on Safana agreeing to join her party again any time soon. She did not know much about the thief, but the woman was clearly beyond livid. Her fingers were twitching as though she were itching to wind them around the beautiful werewolf's throat.

"Where do I even start correcting you?" Safana howled with rage. "Firstly YOU'RE ALWAYS DRUNK! Secondly-"

"Look who it is," snarled an unfriendly voice in Arrow's ear. It was the guard who moments ago had been perched on Freya's knee. Close-to, she recognized the face under the helmet. Her stomach lurched, followed by a mixed feeling of nausea and bubbling rage. She wanted to both throw up and punch the woman in the face. It was Jessa Vai.

Arrow took a deep breath and forced herself to act normally. If the sick freak suspected that she knew about her shop she would warn her staff not to let her in and her plan would fail. Fortunately, 'normal' between them certainly did not have to mean 'nice.'

"Go bathe in bandit scalps, psycho," she said coldly.

Two separate fights with the potential to spoil the opulent surroundings were averted by the re-emergence of Corwin, with a grumpy-looking Duke Silvershield in tow. He seemed to have been doing paperwork judging by his ink-stained cheek and hand. The man had not even bothered to put down his pen. Safana slunk reluctantly back down the stairs and the officers of the Flaming Fist immediately fell silent. The swaying guards were propped up to attention by their more sober comrades and a few attempted to hide their drinks behind their backs.

"You! You are Arowan?" he demanded.

"Yes," she replied simply.

"Yes, my lord," corrected Corwin under her breath.

"All men are equal in the sight of Ilmater," replied Arrow firmly.

"Excellent," the Duke said distractedly, giving each of the party's hands a perfunctory shake. If he was offended by her refusal to use his title he seemed in no mood to bother doing anything about it. "Get a good night's rest, the staff will see to your rooms downstairs. Tomorrow you can give a public testimony and we can get rid of Eric. At least that will be one problem out of the way. Good work Corwin. We'll need you to guard the trial and then you may return to your regular duties."

He seized one of the embroidered napkins off of the table and tossed it to Arrow, motioning to her to wipe her boots. Then he returned to his desk in his own room and slammed the door with his foot. The ranger sat down on a green velvet cushion and cleaned off her boots, reflecting ruefully that were they not enchanted, the napkin she was ruining to do this would probably cost more than the boots themselves.

The trio left Freya to her drinking and filed out into the corridor. Presently a neatly turned out serving maid arrived to take them to their rooms.

"Pardon me milords but the guest wing is full," she trilled curtseying. "I'm afraid you'll have to share." They followed her down the stairs, looking forward to a good rest after their long hike and the frantic crush to get into the city. The maid directed Arrow to the first room on the left. "You're in here, Miss Imoen asked special. You're in here with Mr Coran, Mr…?"

"Rasaad. Rasaad yn Bashir," the monk said politely. "And your name is?"

The maid blinked. Apparently her employers' wealthy guests seldom cared enough to ask.

"And you ma'am," she said, looking at Viconia apologetically. "I'm afraid you're in here with Miss Safana."

"I require my own room, or to share with one of my companions!" the cleric replied anxiously. She could not sleep so covered. Even if she tried to, the material might slip on her pillow.

"Viconia, I think you are going to have to take your hood off," said Arrow. "Freya has her flaws, a lot of them, but I don't think she and the Duke would allow anyone to harm you for no other reason than being drow."

Slowly Viconia lowered her hood, letting her silvery hair spill out. She narrowed her scarlet eyes at the servant, as if daring her to pass comment. To their surprise the woman did not yell for the guards or call out 'kill the drow!' Instead she beamed at Viconia and said something even worse.

"Ooooh!" she trilled, clapping her hands together delightedly. "Are you related to Drizzt Do'Urden?"

 


	34. Strange Bedfellows

Since Imoen was still upstairs with Freya, the ranger pulled the door to their room open and strode straight in. It was clear that Imoen had made a touching effort to prepare it for her in advance. She had not, of course, gone to the ridiculous extreme of actually keeping it tidy. Used knickers, furry cups and crumpled tissues spread out from the cornucopia of garbage that was Imoen's bed. Yet Arrow's own bed had been carefully made and flowers arranged on her bedside table. The blooms were placed in an amateurish, haphazard sort of way that suggested they were Imoen's own work and not that of the servants.

Two steaming bathtubs had been placed on either side of the room. They smelled extremely floral and were filled, Arrow noted with an eyeroll, with glitter-pink foam. Potion bottles in various hues of pink and purple had been positioned next to each bath, and folded towels set out, also pink. These rooms were not quite so opulent as the Duke's suite, but were still far nicer than any place Arrow had ever slept before. This sort of fussy over-indulgence seemed an almost repulsive lifestyle when there were so many people just outside the doors trapped in grinding poverty. Still, it was not in her power to do anything about that and since it would only be for a short time she might as well enjoy it. She shrugged out of her clothes and lowered herself slowly into the warm, sparkling bubbles.

Outside, Rasaad was having a dilemma. He was knocking on Coran's door but there was no answer, and he was having trouble deciding what to do. Going in anyway, when he was probably not expected, would be unforgivably rude. On the other hand sleeping in the corridor in a place like this was likely to be equally frowned upon. Viconia had better luck. Sluggishly, and at length, her new roommate Safana had answered the other woman's sharp rap.

"Coran!" she blasted through the oak door, "Bother me one more time this evening and I swear by all the gods that I am going to-" The door wrenched open and Safana emerged in a fluffy white dressing gown with a towel around her head. Despite her grievances with her own party, the thief was in no hurry to vacate the Ducal palace. Unlike Arrow she took no issue with this extravagant lifestyle and was planning to take full advantage for as long as possible. She cut her sentence off abruptly as she came face to face with the drow. "Well this is unexpected," she remarked in a sour drawl.

Coran, on the other hand, was still not answering and there was no light coming from the room. It seemed extremely impolite to simply barge in, but as the minutes ticked by, Rasaad accepted that he was not going to have much choice. Tentatively he pushed the door open. The candles had been put out and only the silhouettes of the bed and furniture were visible in the faint light reflecting from outside. A bundle was breathing heavily on one bed, apparently asleep. Coran had stacked all his gear upon the other bed. As quietly as possible, trying not to wake him, the monk gently relocated the bags to the floor. He was just rolling up a belt left on the pillow when he felt a prick of metal dig into his Adam's apple.

"I'm almost tempted to let you take _that one_ , thief," a low, amused voice spoke into his ear.

"Excuse me," said Rasaad. "I am not stealing. I was instructed to berth here for the night and did not wish to wake you. I was moving your belongings from the bed, though I see how it must look. Please accept my apologies."

"I know. I'm joking," said Coran, releasing Rasaad and allowing him to turn around. "Though Lady Luck smiles upon you tonight. Had I not seen you upstairs earlier with the ranger and the drow I would have cut you first and asked questions later. On the subject of your charming companions, any chance of an introduction?"

"To which one?" asked Rasaad ruefully, massaging his neck. A small smear of blood came away on his finger. The elf rubbed his chins thoughtfully, contemplating this.

"Hard to decide," he admitted. "The drow is uncommonly beautiful, but if I have learnt anything from my recent experiences it is that physical attractiveness is not everything in a woman. Arowan looks tremendously athletic, I bet she has fantastic stamina…" The elf hummed to himself thoughtfully, but Rasaad flushed and his fist clenched behind his back as it dawned on him what the other man was saying. "I think I would like to get to know both of them," decided Coran finally. "But definitely Arowan first."

"I find it highly unlikely that Arowan would wish to get to know you in that way," replied Rasaad, telling himself that he was not being selfish. Naturally, he would be delighted to see Arrow happily paired off with someone else. Just not this man. She deserved someone who would be loyal to her and treat her with the same kindness that she showed to others. Yet when he pictured this, the only man his mind would permit him to imagine her with was himself. He must have looked as miserable as he felt, because the next thing he knew, Coran had forced an open bottle of Nashkel Taverns into his hand and plonked himself down on the bed beside him.

"Don't be so glum! How was I supposed to know you two had a thing?" he asked bracingly.

"We do not 'have a thing,'" Rasaad corrected him hastily, feeling himself tense up at the suggestion. "I am a monk of the Sun Soul order." Then, remembering himself, he added, "May I tell you a little about the goddess Selune?"

"You're a monk?!" gasped Coran, spitting out his beer. In the dim light he looked as horrified as if Rasaad had just revealed a terminal illness. "That certainly puts my problem into perspective! I am so, so, so sorry."

Coran's 'problem' was applying a mud mask in the room across the hall and moaning vociferously to her new roommate about both him and Freya. The worst part of it, she was telling Viconia bitterly, was that the werewolf was the first woman she'd ever met with whom she had assumed she would not have these sorts of issues. She had actually trusted her! But no. Coran got stuck in a gender changing girdle, and the next thing she knew the pair of them had their tongues down each other's pants! The drow was lounging in Safana's second-hand bathwater, idly scrubbing the dirt from between her toes.

"You should have castrated him," said Viconia sympathetically. "Then kept him around as a warning to the next male."

Safana nodded, seemingly rather taken with the idea. Of course, the trouble with surface cities was that there were laws against that. Everything up here was so geared toward men. Viconia nodded in agreement and the human poured them each a generous glass of ruby wine.

"So, you had to let him get away with it?" Viconia sighed, taking a large sip.

"Well not exactly," Safana said, with a malevolent smile. "I swallowed the key to the girdle. It was the only way to make him a man again. He had to go rooting through the dunny pile looking for it every time I visited the latrines. It took a week."

Viconia's red eyes twinkled.

"I like your idea better," mused Safana, "But I'd never get away with it. Honestly, the Underdark sounds like a paradise. Why ever did you leave?"

"You know all the time we were travelling together and sharing a tent, Arowan never once bothered to ask me that?" Viconia complained. Safana tutted and shook her head. "I was required to sacrifice an infant to the Spider Queen. When I refused to do so, House De'Vir fell from favour with Lolth and I was forced into permanent exile."

"Good on you sister, not killing a baby," drawled Safana, who had drunk quite a lot even before Viconia arrived and was starting to sway slightly. "And the ranger never even asked you about that, huh?"

"Arowan is an utter shite-hawk!" Viconia declared, sitting up suddenly in the bath and sending a small wave of lukewarm bubbles over the rim.

"Can't be as bad as Freya," laughed Safana, acidly. "Maybe it runs in the family. Makes sense that the daughters of Bhaal would grow up to be total bitches. I pity their brother. Between them they'll see him swing in the morning, whether he's guilty or not."

Eric, of course, was absolutely guilty and Arrow knew that his only possible defence was his addiction to numbing potions. She was rehearsing different ways in her head of phrasing her argument. It took Imoen a long time to join Arrow in her room. The ranger soaked in the tub until her toes were wrinkly and almost all of the pink bubbles were gone. Then she dried herself and put on a dressing gown, feeling happy for once that she had so little hair to dry. By the time the pink-haired girl came downstairs, Arrow had already fallen asleep, sitting up by the fire waiting for her.

"Hey you!" said Imoen, greeting her friend with a hug. "Sorry it took me so long! I had to get their permission and they really didn't want to let me!"

"Whose permission? To do what?" mumbled Arrow sleepily.

"Take you to visit Eric of course!" cried Imoen. "Duke Silvershield and Freya were dead against it but I talked them around. I had to cry a bit. Had to cry a lot actually, Freya really has it in for him."

That got Arrow's attention. Her eyes shot open and she stumbled backward out of the other girl's arms, a bewildered expression on her face. She had fully expected Imoen to beg her not to testify against Eric and maybe even sob, but to actually make her go and see him before the trial? What in Ilmater's name for? What would be the point?

"Imoen," Arrow began with a pained expression. She had already been tired, the bath had left her comfortable and clean and sleepy. Probably the single kindest thing she could do for her brother right now would be to curl up in bed until dawn. That way in the morning she could make his defence with a clear head. Yet now her heart was pounding with guilt and fear, it would be hard to get back to sleep. Besides she knew that stubborn look on Imoen's face. The girl was not about to take 'no' for an answer. "Ok. Where is he?"

Eric, it transpired was chained up in the basement of this building, rather than the Flaming Fist headquarters. This was only because the Ducal Palace was where Freya happened to be, and should Eric's master turn up looking for him they would have a hard time fending him off without her. If Arrow had hoped that this location might be preferable to a prison cell, she was in for a disappointment. Wrapped in a dressing gown and fluffy sheepskin slippers, the two girls crept downstairs holding a candle each.

The ground floor where the Dukes entertained their diplomats was particularly lavish. It was as though it was designed to both entertain, but also intimidate important visitors to Baldur's Gate with the Grand Dukes' wealth and power. Imoen led her to a side door and opened it. What lay below could not have contrasted more sharply with the gold-plated world above. As soon as the door opened they were met with a blast of cold that made goosebumps spring up along Arrow's bare legs. They descended the steps, which were carpeted not with red velvet but brown sacking, and only that because it seemed to prevent dirt from being tracked upstairs.

As they reached the cellar eerie squeaks and the scuttering of shadows in the corner of Arrow's vision gave away the presence of rats. There were kegs and rows upon rows of wine bottles as well as some cured meats suspended from the ceiling. A large pile of grain sacks were sitting in a shallow pool of water. They would rot soon and be wasted. The ranger narrowed her eyes at them, thinking of all the hungry people outside. Arrow held her candle high, and noticed that the barrels of Nashkel Taverns ale had found their place among the other kegs. Apparently, Bernard had successfully made his delivery.

It suddenly struck Arrow as rather odd that Bernard had remembered Jaheira's name, but not her own face, nor Rasaad's. Even odder, the coincidence that he had put off entering the city for days and then among a crowd of hundreds, the party had happened to run into him on the way into Baldur's Gate. What was he waiting for anyway? If he had been transporting delicate fruit or easily damaged luxuries then holding his cart back to avoid the crowds might have made sense, but he was transporting beer. Was he afraid his kegs might get dented? Running into him was such a strange coincidence that Arrow started to doubt that it was a coincidence at all.

After all, she could not recall the druid introducing herself to Bernard during their dinner in Nashkel. It occurred to the ranger that an innkeeper to the aristocracy might get to hear all sorts of things. Such a man might prove a very useful contact, perhaps, if one were part of a secretive and interfering organization. Like… say… the Harpers. She smiled to herself, imagining her father's panicked stuttering when she dropped into conversation that she had figured out one of their associates. Then she remembered why she was in the cellar, and her smile faded.

There was no obvious sign of Eric, but Imoen seemed to know where she was going. She took Arrow's hand and the ranger noticed how clammy her palm was. She led her to the back of the cellar where two small alcoves had been converted into makeshift cells. One was empty, but splatters of blood on the walls and floor suggested that perhaps the Dukes were less than wholly committed to the concept of due process, provided the prisoners could be kept out of public view. The door to the next cell had not been closed, but inside was Eric, chained firmly to the wall. The manacles hardly seemed necessary. From the state her brother was in, it seemed unlikely that he could even climb the stairs unaided, never mind attempt to escape.

"Eric, hey Eric!" called Imoen, crouching down beside him. The bundle of soiled robes and sweat that was Eric looked up at them. He was in a much worse state now than when he had first got off of the boat. His eyes were so sunken and hollow that she might have mistaken him for a skeleton, were it not for his flickering grey eyes tinged with green. There was a clatter of bones, and two skeletal rats like the one she had come across in his bedroom in Candlekeep scampered onto his shoulder and chittered at her. "I brought someone to see you," Imoen said gently.

Arrow, who had been hovering nervously by the entrance, stepped forward. The cell stank of acid and stale urine. She had to fight not to gag. Battling the urge to cover her nose, she stood over Eric. This was the same boy who had mercilessly tormented his foes in the pits, torturing them brutally and even trying to force one to renounce his own god and be judged false in the afterlife. She was thoroughly revolted, and yet her reaction was muted by pity. Whatever he had done, this miserable creature was suffering terribly.

"Eric," she said, flatly.

"You?" Eric croaked. He started to laugh, a hollow, mirthless laugh. "I know you! In my dreams I felt what you felt… sometimes… Your heart was always tearing with guilt every time you killed something. Even kobolds and goblins. Even people who were determined to kill you." He started weakly toward her, but caught on his chains and stumbled back. "I used to think that you were the voice of my conscience," he said vaguely. "Before the illithid showed me that you were a real person. So, where is my real conscience? Maybe I haven't got one."

He laughed hysterically at the wall, before his laughs turned into terrified sobbing. He turned away from them and dry-heaved into the straw but nothing came up except blood-tinged saliva. Judging by his weight loss and the untouched plate of stale bread beside him, there was nothing in his stomach to vomit.

"You're afraid," Arrow replied, in a voice like cracking ice. "Constantly. It drives you to do terrible things and I don't believe you when you say you have no conscience. You feel it, I know you do! How do you live like this?"

"How do you not?" he howled, tugging at his chains. "You're condemned to the same fate as I am! You, me and Freya! We're all headed to the abyss together. Forever Arowan. Can't you two wrap your heads around what that actually means? What is eternity minus a hundred years of torture? Still eternity!"

"Arowan?" a voice was calling from the top of the stairs.

"We're down here Rasaad," Arrow called back heavily. The monk ran down the stairs two at a time, following the sound of their voices, but he stopped short when he caught sight of Eric.

"I wished to speak with you, but you had gone. I feared the worst," he panted. His brown eyes fell on Eric and narrowed, "And perhaps I was right to. Arrow, I understand your desire not to surrender to Bhaal's will by killing your brother, but that does not mean you should be visiting him. Remember, not only were his deeds in the pits evil, but he also brought the attention of the Hooded Man down on you and Freya."

"You would have done the same!" Eric spat from the floor.

"I would not," Rasaad declared, folding his muscular arms over his chest, "Not to spare myself the abyss nor any other fate. Coward!"

"Then you'd have died," Eric coughed. "Good men do not last long in the Black Pits, but I have seen you fight in dreams. I think you might have survived for quite a while. I think that you are not so closely aligned to the light as you like to believe."

"I am more familiar with fighting pits than you might suppose," replied Rasaad. "Not all pit fighters are evil. My own father was one and he was one of the best men I have ever known."

"Bad example," sneered Eric. He sat up fully, though he had to prop himself up against the stone wall to do it. He was shaking up and down the length of his body and Arrow found herself wishing that Viconia had come looking for her rather than Rasaad. Something was very wrong with Eric. Every so often he trailed off as he spoke and looked away into the distance, confused and vacant. "Your father was butchered in the pits like a lamb."

"I… never told you that," said Rasaad, disconcerted.

"You didn't have to," Eric sighed, looking at the monk with dead eyes. "You said he was a good man in a fighting pit. That's pretty much synonymous with 'corpse.' In the pits you face worse than monsters. If you want to survive you have to be ready to murder innocent people who don't want to be there. Good men hesitate, so good men die."

"My father knew my brother and I were likely to die on the streets of Calimport if he was killed. I tell you he did not hesitate," said Rasaad. Eric sighed and tried to look at the monk but he seemed to have some difficulty focussing. His hand flopped onto the floor and one of the skeletal rats buried under it. The necromancer patted its shiny smooth head in a disorientated sort of way.

"Then perhaps his true alignment was closer to neutral. Neutral men slaughter who they must in the moment, but the guilt eats away at them afterwards when they go back to their bunks. They can't sleep, they lose focus and eventually they lose their lives to someone like me. I am telling you monk, only the irredeemably evil survive the pits."

"Eric stop it!" wept Imoen suddenly. "Don't you want them to save you?"

It was almost as if Eric didn't hear her. He was talking to the wall now, apologising over and over. Whether he imagined he was addressing the paladin, or his father Gorion or perhaps his former lover, Bubbles, it was impossible to tell from his incoherent stream of words. With a sigh, Arrow ripped up the brown sacking from the stairs, wetted it in the water around the grain sacks and cleaned her brother as best she could. Imoen hurried up the stairs and came back with jugs of the pink bathwater and towels.

Between them the two girls got the listless necromancer reasonably presentable, at least from a distance, then left him and returned upstairs. Imoen hugged him for a long time before she would let him go, but the man was past noticing.

"He's in no fit state to stand trial!" Imoen begged in a whisper. "He's delirious, and in withdrawal from the numbing potions. You saw him Arrow! I'm scared that even without the hangman's help he might die in the night!"

"I can no more do anything about that than you can!" replied Arrow.

"I know, I know!" whined Imoen desperately. "Can't we try to break him out? There are only a dozen or so guards!"

"Firstly, the guards have done nothing to deserve death. He has," said Arrow in a worried whisper, "Secondly that kind of talk could see you strung up right alongside him and thirdly, forget me taking on a dozen guards. Just one Flaming Fist veteran could probably take me out! I'm not Freya."

They reached their floor. Rasaad bowed goodnight and returned to his room. Arrow wondered what it was he had been wanting to say to her. Perhaps that he meant to leave first thing in the morning. So be it. He had delivered her to her destination and there was no need for him to stay for Eric's trial. She could feel neither relieved nor sad about it. There were more important things to worry about.

"Did Rasaad mean it though?" Imoen sniffled, "About you not wanting to kill Eric?"

"I can't deny that my brother did what he did," said Arrow tentatively. "They'll make me swear an oath before Ilmater. I will explain about the numbing potions and try to defend him, but you know I am not charismatic like Freya is. People don't just listen to me. I can't promise that anything I say is going to help."

"Thank you," whispered Imoen. They returned to their room and sat down on the edge of Arrow's bed, with the young thief crying into her shoulder. The ranger stroked her pink hair absent mindedly until finally her sobs subsided. She looked up at Arrow with damp, shiny eyes. "What do you think Rasaad wanted to talk to you about?"

"You think that's important?" sighed Arrow, shaking her head, "Now?"

"Do you think he might have been about to propose?" asked Imoen, almost-brightly.

Arrow goggled at her. It seemed that no matter what Imoen went through, however many loved ones she lost and no matter how dire the situation, she could always find an opportunity to say something ridiculous. Of all the possible things that Rasaad might come out with! Arrow thought it marginally more likely that he had come to tell her that the succubus was on to something after all, and that he was eloping with Edwin to Thay where they would make their living as comedy gigolos.

"Propose?" she spluttered, "Why would he do that?"

"I dunno," shrugged Imoen. "You've been together a while and he seems like the kind of guy who'd want to, y'know, make an honest woman out of you."

"Oh, gods Imoen, I've missed you so!" Arrow laughed until her sides split and pulled Imoen into a closer hug. "But no. Rasaad has no reason to… erm… 'make an honest woman' out of me."

"Are you kidding me? All that time and you two haven't…?"

"No Imoen, and we never will," replied Arrow, more soberly. "I… he… I think maybe he might have been thinking about it at one point, but it didn't work out."

"Oh," said Imoen. She looked a little downcast. Then she asked tentatively, "Is Khalid in Baldur's Gate too?"

"He and Jaheira had some business to take care of. They'll be at least a couple of weeks," Arrow replied. Imoen looked even more disappointed not to be seeing more of her former companions. The girls said nothing more and huddled into their beds trying to get some sleep before the morning.

Elsewhere in the city, Edwin, who had eventually managed to slip through the gates, was venting his temper by hurling tomatoes at a disgruntled looking young performer. He was the only patron in the bar that night and the disgusted bard eventually stormed out, threatening darkly under his breath to portray Edwin in one of his future compositions in a most unflattering light. In a different, more upmarket tavern, Xan was attempting to drown his sorrows, and possibly drown himself. He could go home to Evereska now, nothing was preventing him. The iron crisis was solved and the Hero of Baldur's Gate was more than capable of mopping up the last of Sarevok's minions without his assistance. Yet here he was, still pining for Viconia.

"Oh, what is the point?" he moaned aloud, in a voice so utterly despondent, that the innkeeper discretely locked the window and removed all sharp objects from the room Xan had rented, for fear that the depressed elf might do himself a harm.


	35. Three Wizards

 

 

"Oh it's bad luck to be you.  
A chosen one of many isn't new.  
When you think you're full of luck,  
In the bollocks you'll get struck,  
Oh it's bad luck to be you."

_~The Bard's Tale_

 

 

It was a bleak, overcast morning. Xan had risen early from his comfortless bed while the city was still dark and meandered through the desolate streets of Baldur's Gate to the trial. He could tell that the Grand Dukes and Freya were keeping an open mind from the way they had already erected a scaffold and noose, merely a stone throw away from the platform where Eric was to be tried. His punctual arrival allowed him to climb onto a low rooftop and watch these dismal events unfurl from a vantage point. Even he was not so morbid as to wish to see a young man swing, but he was concerned for Viconia's safety. A scared mob, a drow and a handy scaffold. There was much potential for things to go wrong.

Across the square, another wizard was also positioning himself before first light. Xan was dressed in bright purple robes and Edwin in the red of Thay. As dawn broke there were still few enough people that each noticed the other man and they caught each other's eyes. Xan's lips thinned suspiciously, while Edwin smiled sardonically but the pair of them had no reason nor desire to approach each other. Neither of them saw the third mage, lurking in the topmost tower of the Flaming Fist headquarters. The Hooded Man, his enchantments carefully placed so that he could listen in on proceedings, waited with as much eagerness as his empty husk of a mind permitted. Beside him stood a second, shorter figure, in a heavy sack-like robe that covered her entire body.

An hour or so passed, as Xan hugged his knees to his chest despondently. Some of the keener ghouls of Baldur's Gate were gathering now around the raised platform where Eric's case would be heard. Their punctuality was rewarded, as the Flaming Fist began marching from their stronghold and taking up guard positions far sooner than he had expected. There were more police than was customary for this type of event. No doubt over concern that the Hooded Man might attempt to rescue the Bhaalspawn from his well-deserved fate.

The remnants of Xan's former party had left their untouched breakfasts on Duke Silvershield's dining table and were milling about uncomfortably in the hall of the Ducal Palace. Arrow shivered both with fear for Eric and, oddly enough, stage fright. She was not comfortable in large groups of people, and though she had grown better at hiding it, she remained rather self-conscious. She tugged at her hair. It was reaching an awkward length where it was still too short to style, but long enough that it really needed it. It was sticking from her head like an excessively spiked mace ball.

Freya was talking to Corwin in a low voice, probably planning strategies in case the Hooded Man tried to intervene in the execution. The werewolf was looking slightly bleary around the eyes. She had drunk a great deal from the Duke's private stores the previous evening and he was glaring at her disapprovingly. Her party were dressed formally, and all looking solemn, except for Safana who had not bothered to show up. The giant Rashemen berserker whom Arrow had met briefly at the Nashkel carnival had a comforting arm around Imoen, who was petting his hamster anxiously. Coran was massaging his neck and eyeing Freya with unease. Beside him was the haughty looking woman who Arrow had seen with them in visions.

"Excuse me?" she approached her tentatively, "You are Dynaheir, right?"

"I am. What d'ost thou require of me?" she demanded in an imperious way that reminded Arrow a little of Jaheira. It was an extremely cold and abrupt response to her greeting. The ranger was certain that she detected hostility in the other woman's eyes, which she was at a loss to explain since they had never met.

"I'm not really sure how to put this," began Arrow awkwardly, "But did you know that there is a wizard trying to kill you?"

"Thine Thayan friend I presume?" she replied. It was a statement, not a question. So that was her problem then; she thought her to be Edwin's 'friend.' The witch adjusted her bangles, clicking them with her long, painted nails. "This surprises me not. Our countries have long been at odds. Do you expect some reward for this information?"

"Reward? No!" spluttered Arrow. "I was just warning you. Edwin and I are not friends, he just follows us around trying to get to you."

The Rashemen woman glared at her from under heavily hooded eyes, but Arrow could not be bothered to try to reason with her. She rolled her eyes and walked away, in the opposite direction to the quiet corner of the room where Viconia was skulking.

"Arowan? Might I have a word?" a gentle Calishite voice spoke in her ear.

"I suppose so," sighed Arrow, turning around wearily.

"In private?" Rasaad asked earnestly. For a moment Arrow seriously considered refusing him, but curiosity got the better of her. She followed him into one of the many rooms budding off from the main hall. This one appeared to be some sort of office, with a gnome-sized chair placed at a small desk spilling over with paperwork. It was currently unoccupied. Rasaad pulled the door closed with a discrete click.

Arrow stood awkwardly, arms hanging by her sides. She waited politely for him to speak but he seemed unable to. His face looked pained as though he were fighting some internal battle. The monk was, indeed, wrestling with himself. He had been determined to walk away, and even now he knew that would be the right thing to do, but last night's conversation with Coran had sapped him of his willpower. A vague awareness that Arrow would one day move on from him and meet someone else was one thing. Being confronted with a real flesh-and-blood man, who openly intended to attempt to sleep with her was a different matter entirely.

"Arowan," he began. Arrow frowned, unsure what could be so serious that it was causing him this much distress. "Arowan I…" Rasaad broke off and paused for a long time, his dark eyes troubled. "It will be alright. I cannot promise you that the trial will go the way you want it to. It almost certainly won't but that is not your fault. It is partly Freya's and mostly Eric's, but not yours. You did everything you could."

Arrow blinked. That was it? Of course, it was. What had she been expecting, that he was going to tell her that he'd changed his mind and wanted to stay? This was Rasaad, after all. She hadn't even noticed how fast her heart had been hammering until it started to slow. The man had not waited for a response. He choked out his words quickly and now his hand was already on the doorknob poised to run. Once again, Arrow found herself having to swallow her disappointment. She looked at her boots sadly, the ones the Cloud Peaks mayor had gifted her. She could go back there soon and earn this kind present as their new ranger. The monk was leaving and that was for the best.

Rasaad released the door abruptly without opening it and before Arrow had a chance to register what was happening, he crossed the room in two strides. He seized her shoulders and drew her closer to him, eyes burning, and tilted his head slightly. She swallowed nervously and her head swam, but long-experience with Rasaad had taught her caution. Any second now he was bound to drop her and walk away, she was certain of it. That, or there was another succubus lurking around and he was not acting of his own free will. She scanned the room with her eyes but their only audience were the bookworms.

He moved his hand slowly to her cheek and the other to the small of her back, as much to steady himself as anything else. The monk was shaking slightly, and Arrow felt the colour rush to her cheeks and nose. Rasaad paused for a moment gazing into the ranger's wide, confused eyes, pretty dusting of freckles and slightly parted lips. Her eyes followed the tattoos around his face to his brown eyes. With the serene countenance and self-assured mode of addressing people that he had acquired at the monastery, it was sometimes easy to forget that he was barely older than she was. He seemed so vulnerable that her hand reached up to trace his jaw of its own accord.

" _What if it turns out I'm really bad at this?"_ she thought, panicking slightly. _"Where am I supposed to put my other hand? How long is it meant to last?"_

Rasaad tilted his head questioningly, and Arrow moved hers in the opposite direction. The monk closed his eyes, but she did not quite trust enough to close hers yet. Supposing he were to walk away with her head still at this angle and mouth slightly open? She really wouldn't put it past him.

He drew her closer still, and brushed his lips tentatively over her own. It was the gentlest touch and yet the ranger felt her entire body tingling. She let her eyes close and stroked her hand over his face. The other felt uncomfortable hanging by her side and she raised it up to hold onto the rock of muscle in his upper arm that she had always secretly admired. The affectionate gesture gave the monk a little more confidence and his grip around her tightened.

She relaxed for a moment into the sweet, surreal feeling as their lips stroked clumsily. Rasaad's kiss was a combination of suppressed desire and inexperience. It was a brief, chaste kiss. Neither one of them had the experience or self-confidence to want to attempt anything more. When they broke apart his expression was unreadable. There was a long pause as neither of them were really sure what was supposed to happen next.

"We should go back," Arrow said nervously. "My brother… I need to…"

"I apologise, it was insensitive of me to… the timing was not appropriate…" the monk stammered anxiously, face burning.

"No, no it's fine! Don't worry about it!" babbled Arrow, cursing herself inwardly for messing this up.

"We should talk. Later," he said. They opened the door and returned to the others, Arrow feeling rather rattled. Not least because she immediately became the focus of the whole room. Eric had been dragged up from the cellar, almost literally. He was slung with his arms dangling limply over the shoulders of two Flaming Fist soldiers who were having to half carry him.

"There you are!" snapped Corwin impatiently. "We're ready to go.

They set out in procession. By staging the event early in the morning, the Grand Dukes had hoped to keep the numbers of attendees manageable. Even so, the street was lined with Flaming Fist officers holding back the crowds. Freya, Vai and Duke Silvershield led the group followed by the guards carrying Eric. Arrow followed with Rasaad and Viconia. Both women had their hoods pulled up, trying to avoid the stares from the crowd, though the bulk of their attention was on the young necromancer.

The people were clearly hostile to Eric. This was down to a combination of the traffic problems he had caused and Freya's intense popularity. As the statuesque werewolf passed by there was a smattering of impromptu applauding, but when they caught sight of Eric they screamed insults and jeered. Some of them were hurling rotten produce as well, though this was mainly hitting the unfortunate guards who had been tasked with carrying him.

A few steps behind Arrow came Freya's party. Tears were rolling silently down Imoen's pale face and she was still being supported by Minsc. At one point Coran stepped up with a gentle smile to offer his own brand of 'comfort' but a warning look from Dynaheir saw him retreat. From his place on the rooftop above the crowd, Xan felt a lump rise in his throat as he caught sight of the two hooded figures. One of them must be Viconia. Why did she not have the sense to stay away? Edwin, meanwhile, got a good look at his quarry at last and an evil smile spread over his face. By the end of the week Dynaheir would be obliterated and he would finally be able to return to Thay. The Hooded Man, skulking in his tower, narrowed his cold eyes.

"So, this is Arowan," he muttered under his breath. "As underwhelming and mediocre as her brother led me to expect." His attention turned swiftly back to Eric and Freya.

"Let me see," purred a soft voice behind him.

"I do not think that wise Bodhi," the Hooded Man replied repressively.

"Just for a moment," Bodhi insisted. She raised thick gloved hands to her hood which was wholly obscuring her face and lifted it a fraction to peak out. Even this gloomy morning light was too much for her vampiric skin to endure. There was a sizzling noise and she quickly dropped the hood with an angry hiss.

"Well, was that worth it?" the Hooded Man asked, with cold amusement as she rubbed her face through the hood. "I could have just described her to you."

"She looks weak!" Bodhi replied eagerly. "I could take her easily. We could do it tonight and you'll be restored by morning! Then we'll snatch Eric and you can do me. Nobody is going to send an army to protect him, even when they let him go."

"Don't be foolish!" her brother snapped impatiently. "You are incapable of thinking beyond the next step, it was always your weakness! Restoration is not sufficient. I will have my revenge on Ellesime and Suldanessellar by finishing what I started. I _will_ ascend."

As soon as he called her foolish, his temperamental sister stopped listening. The Hooded Man sighed and raised his hand as if to strike her, though encased within the cloak the vampire did not see the gesture.

"We will only get one more chance," he explained in a voice of forced restraint. "Should I fail again they will destroy us utterly. We will have the best chance with the strongest Bhaalspawn and clearly that is not Arowan. It is worth waiting!"

"Waiting for what? Freya's army to die of old age?" spat Bodhi.

"I will find a way to lure her out," the Hooded Man responded icily. "She is very strong, but she isn't very clever. Not unlike certain others I could mention. I can capture her if we get her on her own, all I need is the right bait to tempt her away from her city. Besides…"

He trailed off thoughtfully. The procession was mounting the stands now. The exhausted guards put down Eric and he sagged weakly to his knees.

"Besides what?" mimicked Bodhi in a bored voice.

"As it transpires the numbing potions were _not_ the reason for my lack of success with Eric," he admitted. "I was sure that they were responsible for my failure to extract his essence, but once I freed him from the pits I forced him to stop taking them and it made no difference."

"You killed all those sailors for nothing," mocked Bodhi. "Once again your experiments fail!"

"I am telling you the method works!" snapped the Hooded Man, as angrily as he was capable of. "When I caught their souls, and bombarded Eric with them I could feel his own becoming… dislodged. I almost had it! I could feel it!"

"So, what went wrong?" asked Bodhi, as hungry and eager as he was for a cure but far less patient.

"Something pulled him back," the Hooded Man muttered, his frustrated eyes fixed on Eric. "There is something anchoring his soul. I interrogated him extensively, but he knows nothing. It is not anything he did himself, I am certain of it. I need to discover what keeps their souls tethered so strongly. There is no point capturing another Bhaalspawn until I know."

The 'tether', Imoen, not realising how lucky she was that Eric and his master were unaware of her true nature, was shivering miserably on the stage. She glared at Freya with hurt, resentful eyes. Duke Silvershield stepped forward to the edge of the stage and held up his hands for silence. A rotten turnip struck him square in the face. Three guards, led by Corwin, elbowed their way into the crowd, swords drawn. A defiant young gnomish man was dragged out by his arms and escorted forcefully in the direction of the Flaming Fist building.

"Your people are starving Silvershield!" the gnome was bellowing as they dragged him away. Corwin cracked him on the back with the hilt of her sword. The gnome let out a guttural pained noise and allowed the other two guards to take him without further protest. Corwin returned to the stage where Freya was chuckling at the angry Duke. Following her lead, the rest of the audience laughed too, causing Silvershield to glare at Freya like a basilisk. Arrow watched the hurt gnome with concern but as he staggered along, there was a tell-tale blue glow that indicated a healing spell and he stood up straight again.

"If the people are that hungry they should try eating their food instead of throwing it," muttered the Duke, wiping turnip from his velvet coat.

"Allow me mi'lord," said Freya. "SILENCE FOR THE GRAND DUKE!"

There really was total silence. Though tall and sturdy by anybody's standards, the power of Freya's charisma seemed to extend her size so it was as if she occupied the entire stage. When she gave the order for quiet, even the horses seemed to cease their neighing. It did not bode well for Eric. Arrow was never going to be able to compete with this power of persuasiveness.

"A- Arrow?" croaked Eric quietly. The ranger dropped to her knees beside him and swept her hair behind her ears the better to hear him, only to remember that her hair wasn't there anymore. "You cannot match that," he whispered urgently. "You have to convince Freya herself not to hang me, it's the only way." There was a pause and then the boy started shaking convulsively again. "I'm dead. I'm going to the abyss."

"People of Baldur's Gate!" the Duke declared loudly, with a jealous glare at Freya, "I am sure by now you are all familiar with the charges against this man. That he committed murder in the fighting pits and inflicted additional tortures which were not required for his own survival. These actions were witnessed through prophetic visions by none other than the Hero of Baldur's Gate!"

Atop his tower, the Hooded Man was running his finger over his thin lips thoughtfully. "Eric told me he only shares these visions with the Bhaalspawn raised in Candlekeep, not every Bhaalspawn," he muttered. "Perhaps they anchor each other's souls? I wonder…"

On the stand below Freya was describing in graphic detail to the horrified, fascinated crowd how Eric had tortured his victims in the Black Pits. She told them about how he had dire-charmed a dwarf into murdering his own adventuring party before making him battle their corpses. She told them how he had sent skeletal rats to claw out the eyes of the innocent spectators. Arrow thought that calling the audience of the Black Pits 'innocent' was a bit of a stretch, but Freya's audience were the people who had turned out with picnics to watch a young man hang, so doubtless they would take a different view. Freya finished her denunciation of her brother by eulogising in glowing terms the brave, heroic paladin who had refused to fight him even to save his own life. Then Eric had disembowelled him, made his innards dance above his head and finally tried to force him to reject his god in the last moments before death. At this point Eric started to weep.

"We have a second witness to confirm these events!" declared the Duke when she was finished. "Arowan of Candlekeep, step forward!"

Arrow shot a terrified look at the sea of people and her body froze. The Duke was drumming his fingers impatiently on his arm. Freya's obvious popularity seemed to have put him in a bad mood. Rasaad gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and nudged her gently to the front of the platform. She stumbled out, her cropped hair feeling very cold and exposed in the breeze.

"H- hello?" she addressed the people nervously. She tried to keep her voice calm, but her efforts made it come out sounding artificial and drawling. Freya huffed impatiently.

"Did he do it, yes or no?" she barked. Arrow narrowed her eyes at her. Making best use of that anger and focussing her attention on the werewolf and not the people, she answered.

"Yes, but-"

"Good. Thank you. Hang him!" Freya interrupted her in a barking tone.

"But he was under enchantment!" Arrow shouted quickly before Freya could interrupt. "He was under the influence of numbing potions. They shut down all feelings including empathy. Without them I do not believe that Eric would have done what he did!"

There was murmuring in the crowd. Such spells were not uncommon in Baldur's Gate and most people knew someone or had friends of friends who had fallen victim to such magic at some point.

"What did these potions look like?" demanded a noble woman in mage robes.

"Duke Jannath," Silvershield acknowledged her with a bow, helping her up onto the stage.

"Little grey bottles," said Arrow nervously, "Sort of palm sized and very strong. A drop seemed to work at first."

"That sounds like numbing potions," the wizard confirmed, "Or psycho-shots to give them their street name." There was a collective gasp. Apparently these things were not unheard of in the city. Now that Arrow came to think of it, that shouldn't be surprising. Bubbles had seemed to know that they were addictive. Perhaps people unfortunate enough to work in the sex trade relied on them more often. That seemed to be why Eric had started taking them in the first place.

"You didn't mention this!" Duke Silvershield said to Freya accusingly.

"I didn't know what they were," she retorted defensively. "And I fail to see why it makes a difference! He took them of his own free will, he kept taking them when he saw what the effects were and we don't even know for certain that those were numbing potions. Arowan is not a cleric!"

Arrow did not know what else to say. It was true, she was not a cleric, and had limited understanding of the potions and how they worked. Freya's argument seemed to convince the people. Probably for no other reason than the fact that it came from Freya. She had tied her great golden mane of hair back for this formal occasion, but it was a force of nature that did not wish to be contained. Strands were escaping in the wind and blowing about her hard but impossibly beautiful face. Her hands were clasped behind her back. Frozen in this pose she would make a beautiful statue. She could imagine the artists of Baldur's Gate rushing home to their brushes and clays as soon as this was over.

"Numbing potions are not hugely uncommon," said Jannath, "Though they are more tightly controlled than, say, Black Lotus, because of how dangerous they can render those who abuse them. They limit, or eliminate at high doses, one's ability to feel empathy. However it does not trigger violent tendencies, and most users would not respond as Eric has done."

"You are saying that all they do is give freer reign to the evil which was already there?" said Freya, "Were Eric not already evil, they would not have had this effect?"

"I'm no expert but… Yes. Yes I suppose you could argue that," replied Jannath. Silvershield nodded, convinced, and Freya remained unmoved. The deal seemed done. So much so that the guards were getting ready to take Eric to the hangman before even hearing the verdict.

"No, you're wrong! They can affect good people the same!" cried Arrow desperately. "Especially if they are under the control of an evil master like Eric was."

"Jannath is the closest thing we have to a subject-matter expert and she has given her opinion," said Duke Silvershield firmly. "We thank you for your time girl but-"

Imoen had to be held back by Minsc to stop her from throwing herself at Eric. From the tower the Hooded Man watched her with interest. The guards lifted Eric, and he offered little resistance until, for the first time, his eyes actually fixed upon the noose for which he was destined. He screamed and pulled back, struggling frantically. His long, black hair that his sisters had washed for him the night before, was strewn over his face making him look feral. A pair of skeletal rats scampered from his sleeves and bit the guards, but they brushed them off and stamped on them.

Arrow caught the look of utter terror in his eyes and knew that she could not allow this to happen. It was cold-blooded murder, it was unnecessary and wrong, and she had to prevent it. Whatever the cost.

"Rasaad!" Arrow grabbed him by the arm and pulled the confused monk to the front of the stage. "One more minute! Listen! Listen to him please!"

"Arrow what can I-?"

"This man is a monk of the Sun Soul Order, they are followers of the good-aligned deity Selune and notoriously lawful!" she cried.

"So am I!" countered Freya loudly, "Just for the record!"

" _Lawful?_ " the Duke and Corwin simultaneously muttered disparagingly. The Duke held up his hand. "You have five minutes, the Fist have better things to be getting on with. Speak!"

"Tell them about your brother!" said Arrow, breathlessly. "Before you came to Athkatla, what was he like?"

" _My_ brother?" Rasaad echoed, frowning. Arrow nodded.

"Gamaz was the best among our order," he began. Though clearly confused, he was aware that time was running out and she seemed convinced that this would help. "In training he was able to defeat all other students. He shone as a beacon of discipline and excellence."

"He was a good man?" pressed Arrow.

"The best I have ever known," confirmed Rasaad. "When we found a man, beaten and injured on the streets, Gamaz did not hesitate to pursue his attackers. Though he was alone and his actions led him to be beaten near to death."

"And your mentors in Calimport would confirm this if asked?" she said. Rasaad nodded and Arrow took a deep breath.

"Now tell them about the last time you saw Gamaz and… and don't hold back the details," she said in a constricted voice.

Rasaad frowned at her, and she could not bear to meet his eyes. If only she had told him sooner! She had seen no reason for him to ever find out. Now he was going to learn the truth about his brother in the cruellest possible way, on a scaffold in front of all these people. But she had no choice. If she said nothing Eric would hang, and it would be entirely her fault.

"He joined the cult of the evil goddess Shar," said Rasaad slowly, "Became one of their leaders. He tortured and mutilated people and animals."

"The remnants of Gamaz's experiments remain in the temple in the Cloud Peak mountains," Arrow said, though every word felt like a dagger through her heart. "One of his victims currently resides in the Friendly Arm Inn. These facts can also be verified. Go on Rasaad."

"He tortured you," said Rasaad. His voice was shaking slightly. There was only one place Arrow could possibly be going with this, but he was hoping against hope, praying to Selune with all his being that he was mistaken. "He shaved your head. He was going to kill me, his own brother. I… I had to slay him with my own hand…"

His voice cracked and he turned to Arrow with tears in his eyes. It was unbearable to the Ilmatari to see any creature in so much pain, never mind Rasaad. Her best friend, and the man she loved. Tears were spilling down her own cheeks. Behind her, at some point, fatigue had overcome Eric and he had stopped struggling. The guards had laid him down on the wooden planks, but she had not noticed.

"I fail to see why this is relevant," cut in Duke Silvershield sharply. From the look on her stern, handsome face, Freya was not making the connection either.

"Because like Eric, Gamaz yn Bashir was also addicted to numbing potions!" Arowan said loudly, forcing herself to tear her gaze away from Rasaad. If she failed to make them understand then she had hurt him for nothing. "We found this on his body." She pulled one of the tiny grey bottles of numbing potion from her bag. "Gamaz was a good-aligned man corrupted by these potions, just as Eric was."

"Give me that!" demanded Freya, snatching the little grey bottle from her hand. She thrust it toward Jannath who inspected it as the city watched with baited breath. Then she gave a small nod. A flicker of doubt crossed Freya's face and she turned back to Arrow. "I was watching that fight too, I didn't see these. You're lying to save your brother. You must be."

"As soon as I caught sight of them, I hid them," Arrow confessed shakily. "I knew how much my friend would suffer if he knew the circumstances in which he had killed his brother, but I wasn't the only one who saw them. Xan of Evereska found them first."

"THEN YOU CAN BOTH BURN IN HELL!" thundered Rasaad. Arrow looked back at him. The monk looked so utterly deranged with fury that for a moment she imagined that he might attack her. From his perch surveying the scene, Xan turned paler. He'd had no idea what the potions were that the ranger had been so determined to conceal, but it was doubtful whether he'd last long enough in a fight with Rasaad to explain. He looked up and caught sight of Edwin occupying the same spot he had claimed earlier. The Thayan smiled sarcastically and drew a finger over his throat.

The Dukes and Freya huddled on the stand, talking intensely, debating what to do. Arrow was dimly aware that her sister was finally convinced. The blonde werewolf was trying to persuade them to release Eric into her custody. In that case her role in this was over. With Arrow's non-existent charisma Eric was far better off with Freya as his champion. Her brother's life had come at a great cost though. Rasaad, who that same morning had been kissing her, was now looking at her with undisguised hatred.

The monk was backing away, shaking his head slowly. His dark, tear-filled eyes were fixed on Arowan. They betrayed as much horror and disgust as though she were the love-child of a beholder and a carrion crawler. His foot caught the edge of the platform and he stumbled, but his physical training allowed him to regain his balance before he fell. He turned and the next second he was gone, fleeing through the crowd so rapidly that she would have no hope of catching him even if she were free to try.

Imoen, on the other hand, was practically skipping. She cannoned into Arrow's side, almost sending the shell-shocked woman tumbling into the crowd. The ranger stood mutely, unmoving, unable to register anything except the pain of her heart tearing itself apart.

"You did it! You did it!" Imoen cried, oblivious to Arrow's misery. "You saved Eric! Freya is going to be his guardian. We'll take him home and heal him up and we'll all be together, finally. Thank you Arowan, thank you!"

"Who is that girl?" mumbled the Hooded Man to himself from his tower. "I saw her at the docks as well… who is she to care so much for the Bhaalspawn? Another of his girlfriends perhaps?"

Bodhi lifted her hood a fraction again, cried in pain and stumbled back, her eyes steaming.

"I don't know," she replied.

"Well find out!" snapped the Hooded Man. "If she is close to the Bhaalspawn I want to know what she knows."

Among the crowd Xan sagged slightly with relief. He had not relished the prospect of a public hanging, though he did feel bad for Arrow. True, she had rather brought this upon herself, and had he known the reason for her hiding the truth from Rasaad he would have advised her against it. Still she was very young, and only human and had believed she was acting for the best by shielding him. Having very recently had his own heart broken, he was inclined to sympathise.

"Hey!" said Imoen happily, rushing over to where Eric had flopped onto the scaffold. "Did you hear? It's ok Eric, you're coming home with me! It's going to be ok!"

Yet as Arrow looked at her brother a cold, sick feeling started to spread through her. Somehow, she knew even before they turned him over. She knew before she saw his unnatural blue face and her eardrums were tortured by Imoen's panicked scream.

Eric was petrified of his own death and the tormented destiny which he believed awaited him in the abyss. Afraid enough to do unforgivable things and hurt everyone he had ever cared about. He had just been snatched from his dreaded fate, and yet there was no hint of a response. Something was very wrong with Eric indeed.

He needed a cleric. Arrow didn't even register immediately that the voice bellowing for Viconia was her own. The drow, keeping her face turned carefully from the crowd, vaulted to the scaffold and started muttering healing spells over him. She was joined by a pair of clerics from the Flaming Fist, but whatever they were doing it wasn't enough.

**THIS IS NUMBING POTION WITHDRAWAL!**

A magically amplified voice rang suddenly over all their heads. Unable to help her brother, Arrow straightened up suddenly and scanned the crowd. Beside her Freya was doing the same, but this was one of the very few areas where Arrow's skills exceeded that of her sister's. She saw, and the werewolf did not, the Hooded Man glaring down at them from his lofty perch, broadcasting his message in a last-ditch effort to rescue his Bhaalspawn.

**YOUR SPELLS WON'T WORK ALONE. GIVE ERIC A DROP OF NUMBING POTION OR HE WILL DIE!**

"Numbing potion? That'll send him straight back to being a psychopath!" barked Freya angrily from the scaffold, though she had no idea who she was talking to. "What kind of ridiculous suggestion is that? Better to let him die!"

The crowd appeared to agree with her, echoing the words 'let him die' with particular enthusiasm. Arrow's fingers laced around the neck of one of the tiny grey bottles. Her heart was pounding and she could taste copper in her mouth. If she gave it to him there was no telling what he might do. How long would it take to wean him off of them fully? If she did nothing he would probably die and yet time was ticking on and she had not yet acted.

"Arrow!" cried Viconia behind her. "Arrow, if you're going to give him the potion you need to do it now!"

"Please, please hurry," sobbed Imoen. She was trying to feed him her healing potions but it did not seem to be doing any good. He was unconscious and couldn't swallow so they dribbled uselessly out of the corner of his mouth.

Arrow made up her mind. She had already lost Rasaad's friendship and earned the enmity of an entire city over her brother. She could not lose him now. Against her better judgement, she yanked the bottle from her pack, uncorked it with her teeth and skidded to her knees beside him. She lifted Eric's flopping head onto Imoen's lap. His long black hair spilled over her legs and onto the scaffold, but his face flopped on one side.

She forced his jaw open to feed him the potion and was met with an eruption of bloody bubbles streaming from his mouth and nose. She tipped the bottle a fraction and a drop slid into his mouth. Whether he swallowed it or whether it dissolved into the foam was impossible to tell. They waited but nothing happened except that his hands turned bluer and the flow of foam slowed a little. It was hard to tell whether this was a good sign or a bad one.

"That was a mistake!" declared Freya harshly. The Flaming Fist healers backed off one by one, having used up all their healing spells, until only the drow was still working.

Eric showed no signs of waking up. Without warning Imoen snatched the bottle from Arrow and tipped the entire content down his throat. Both Bhaalspawn sisters and the Hooded Man's projected voice screamed 'no' at the same time. Unlike Imoen, they had all seen the effects of the potion first hand. Viconia heaved out one last healing surge from Shar, then sat back shaking her head.

"I'm out of healing spells," she panted exhausted. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. She held Eric's wrist, feeling the weak pulse subside. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Imoen asked, looking up at her confused. Eric had his dose of numbing potion. Surely, he no longer needed a healer. Though she had no fondness for the pink-haired human, Viconia had lost a much-loved brother of her own. She cringed, and looked away, unable to bring herself to look at Imoen's expression as reality dawned.

Eric's body exploded into golden dust in her lap.

The crowd gasped and fell silent for a moment. Imoen stared in stunned disbelief as sparkling powder burst like a firework around her, leaving Eric's empty robes lying in a sad floppy crumple at her knees.

Confused ideas burned through Arrow's mind like wildfire. They should scoop up the ashes and take them to the nearest temple! Pour healing potions over them, enough would surely bind him back together. There must be some spell they could use to pull back his soul from the abyss and place it in the body of a bird, a cat, a golem?

It took several minutes for her to properly register that these crazy schemes were not going to work. The mass of glitter blowing from the scaffold and raining down over the heads of the crowd below was all that remained of their brother. There was nothing that she nor anybody else could do. Struggling with the guards had cost him his last reserves of energy and strength.  Eric was dead.

"It is for the best," said Freya stiffly, her wolfish eyes fixed on the empty noose. Yet despite her set jaw and determined manner, there was just a hint of a wobble in her voice that suggested she was not wholly convinced. Despite having pushed for Eric's death since his arrival in Baldur's Gate, her expression now was distinctly shaken. "This wasn't my fault," she said again, trying to convince herself more than Arrow and Imoen.

Imoen had collapsed onto the scaffold crying. Freya turned and strode back in the direction of the Ducal Palace with the intention, Arrow suspected, of drinking herself into a stupor. She had not known the werewolf long or well, but she already felt as though she was starting to get the idea. The ranger knelt down, wrapping her arms around Imoen's which were white with shock.

"I'm so sorry Immy," she whispered. It was completely inadequate, but she could think of nothing else to say.

Imoen continued to sob uncontrollably for some time, as she had done back in Beregost when she had learned of the deaths of Thorg, Draxle and all the others. That had been different though. She had tried and failed to find them the night of Gorion's death. Even with Afoxe, whose decapitation by Sarevok she had witnessed first-hand, Imoen had been too far away to do anything. Whereas this time she'd had days to try to convince them not to go through with it, or to come up with some plan to save Eric, and she had let him down.

"C'mon Immy, we have to go," said Arrow, at length. Corwin was making impatient noises, the crowd was gradually starting to disperse and Baldur's Gate was rapidly returning to business as usual. Eric had vacated the world as seamlessly as if he had never been part of it.

"At least," said Imoen, standing shakily and wiping her tears and snot away with her sleeve, "At least one person showed him some kindness before he died."

"Do you think that makes a difference?" asked Arrow. She intended her question to be comforting but instead the words came out bitter.

Imoen stared at the glitter strewn scaffold where some of the more shameless members of the mob were scooping up Bhaalspawn dust to take home as a souvenir.

"Probably not," Imoen replied in a hollow voice.

Concealed in the crowd, the three wizards watched them go, each with a very different train of thought ploughing through his mind. Despite this annoying waste of a Bhaalspawn, the Hooded Man could not help but look on Freya's actions with approval. Not one, but two of her brothers had now fallen at her will. She was probably the one, but he had to be certain. He would only get one more chance at godhood. Should he fail again, his people would destroy him utterly. Freya had beaten Eric, but Arowan's power had yet to be assessed.

Xan had watched in bleak dismay at the young man's predictable demise. It had little effect on him until he saw Viconia, watching semi-hidden behind Arrow. Feeling like he had swallowed lead he realised that the well-meaning ranger would never be able to defend her from this mob of humanity. It seemed unlikely, from where he was standing, that she would even be able to save herself. Should the werewolf ever decide to send her sister the same way as her brothers, it seemed unlikely to him that Freya and her followers would spare her drow companion.

Viconia, as it happened, was thinking along similar lines to Xan. Nor was he the only wizard watching her from the crowd. Edwin was smiling beneath his red hood and rubbing his hands together gleefully. Like Xan and Viconia, watching Eric die had shown him just how vulnerable she was in her current predicament. Yet where they saw danger he saw, finally, his chance to get to Dynaheir. He began to push his way through the remaining commoners, casting an invisibility spell over himself as he went.

No adventurers in the Ducal Palace slept well that night. Arrow and Imoen sobbed brokenly into each other's arms until they had nothing left to cry, and finally fell asleep in the early hours in the same bed. Minsc and Dynaheir performed a discrete Rashemen ritual for Eric. They did not know him, but Minsc had been quite affected by events and his witch felt that it might comfort him. Alone in the bedroom normally occupied by Skie, Freya lay on the bed surrounded by empty bottles like a vulgar Ophelia, drowning in alcohol and guilt. There was no trace of Rasaad, and Safana had taken the opportunity to storm into Coran's room and resume their fighting. She had found him in such a state that pity temporarily got the better of her and she had not yet returned from comforting him.

Alone in her room Viconia was also curled up in misery, though the source of her sadness was not Eric but a different wizard entirely. Where was Xan? It wasn't the sex. She could go downstairs and find a volunteer guardsman to provide her with that in five seconds flat. Someone to sit and read quietly with though, or debate the economic difficulties underlying the ideological split of his race and hers, or share interesting pieces of lore about the behaviour of myconids… that was rarer. Even their verbal sparring matches had been more entertaining than she let on.

" _Stupid, useless male!"_ she thought, _"Why did you have to go?"_

She curled up tighter into a ball and cried.

There was a knock on the door. Viconia sat up abruptly and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. One advantage of being drow was that her eyes were always red, which made it far less obvious when she had been weeping.

"Come in," she commanded.

The door opened but there was nobody there. It closed again. Fearing an assassin, Viconia summoned her flaming sword, but at once the invisibility spell lifted and there, to her astonishment, stood Edwin.

"Good evening Viconia," he sneered, pouring himself some of Safana's wine without being invited to. "I have a proposition for you."


	36. A Temporary Alliance

"I am pleased that we are agreed," smiled Edwin. He took a small sip of ruby wine, letting his upper lip play on the rim. "It is unfortunate that you happened to surface in this barbarian wilderness, no doubt you will find Thay more to your liking. Besides, you always struck me as too intelligent for your companions."

Viconia smiled at him and reclined very slightly on the bed, crossing her legs in such a way as to show them off to the best angle. The silk of the Grand Dukes' guest linen felt soft and seductive under her hand and she stroked her fingertips over it invitingly.

"More intelligent than Arowan is hardly the zenith of compliments," she teased her new ally. "She can barely read. Come, you can do better."

Edwin raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. He had not known that, though it did not entirely shock him. The hairless-wonder had not been shown the fundamentals of personal grooming in Candlekeep, so why would they bother teaching her literacy?

"Not just the ranger," he assured her. "You could outwit any of them. Even the wizard lacked the basic skill to produce a simple magic missile." Viconia's eyes narrowed slightly. She had no wish to talk about Xan. "Whereas you…"

"What about me?" smirked the drow, reclining on the bed to show off her figure to full effect. Edwin appreciated the view. That foolish elf must be kicking himself for throwing this away. The Thayan supposed (correctly) that she was the reason for his sulking about on the rooftops on execution day. Obviously, he had no intention of mentioning to Viconia that Xan was in the city. He had planned to tell her after Dynaheir's assassination, and perhaps save himself the expense and inconvenience of taking her to Thay. Yet if she meant to offer him other services, maybe he would not bother bringing up Xan's presence at all.

" _Yes Odesseiron,"_ he thought to himself, _"Take her back to Thay, bed her and show her off until the novelty wears thin. Then palm her off on some mid-ranking soldier and let her think it was her own idea."_

Viconia had no better plans in mind for Edwin, though she was rather enjoying being compared favourably to the detestable Arowan. Moreover, since Xan had the gall to end their relationship, she had been feeling inexplicably bad. For some peculiar reason she had found herself pondering _why_ it was that he had wanted to end their romance. It had even crossed her mind, albeit briefly, that perhaps she was not as attractive as she thought she was…?

No! Impossible, and here was an appreciative male to remind her of it. She would cooperate with Edwin's plan, go with him to Thay and let him introduce her to their culture. Then she would dump him for one of his superiors and work her way up the ranks. Maybe have a few daughters and spread her influence through marriage. It would take a while, but drow lived a long time (at least in the absence of other drow). House De'Vir was back in business, finally!

"The witch and her bodyguard are performing some sort of petty ritual for the dead Bhaalspawn," said Viconia. She slowly took off her boots and gloves and Edwin's eyes darkened with lust. "What shall we do while we wait? Bearing in mind that my roommate will be back soon."

"I can cast another invisibility spell if needs be," replied Edwin, locking the door. "Perhaps I should introduce you to the legendary skills of the Red Wizards? I daresay the Evereskan had a few tricks up his sleeve but my people have a well-deserved reputation for… creativity."

Viconia fluttered her lashes over her ruby eyes and gave him a come-hither smile. The wizard stepped smugly from the door to her bed, and minutes later the bedsprings started to squeak.

The Evereskan in question had returned to the Inn after the trial and was currently sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands trying to decide what to do. He was utterly, completely and hopelessly in love with Viconia. To call it mere despair would be his greatest understatement since the time he had described a Demon Knight as 'bad.' Was she even capable of returning his love? What did love even mean to someone who had been raised for decades in the belief that she was fundamentally superior not only to his gender but to his entire race?

Yet every time he closed his eyes the image of her naked and moaning beneath him in their bed swam before him. He replayed her witty insults over and over in his head, remembered the passionate, insistent press of her lips over his own. Xan ached for Viconia so desperately that it felt as if his heart might force its way out of his chest in an attempt to reach her.

He stood up abruptly and started pacing the room, his mind and heart unable to reach agreement on a course of action. It was madness, utter madness, to condemn himself to the exiled, vilified existence he would be forced to lead with her. It would be a foolish thing even if she did return his feelings, but as it was, she didn't! At least… not in the way he wanted her too. By the time the wizard had finally come to a decision, and settled his anxiety enough to attempt to refresh his spells, the nails on his hands were gnawed to little bleeding stubs.

In the Ducal Palace, Edwin broke away from Viconia and lay panting slightly, lying above her on the bed. They were both still fully clothed but she could feel proof of his virility pressing through his robes and into her thigh. Part of her would not have minded if Safana had come back. The weak, silly part of her that was still missing Xan. Well to hell with the feeble darthiir! Edwin would get to enjoy what he had so witlessly thrown away. The Red Wizard sat up and surveyed her with a calculating smile dancing over his thin lips.

"Strip now," he instructed.

Viconia was not in the habit of taking instructions from males but her head was filled with plans for their temporary alliance and, less pragmatically, taking her revenge on Xan. She made a slow show of it, gradually removing her tunic and slipping down the sleeves of her undershirt so that the material pooled around her waist. Her top-half exposed, under Edwin's eager gaze, she shivered slightly. Her nipples hardened in anticipation as his eyes roamed freely over her curves.

Almost indifferently, he shrugged off his wizarding robes to reveal a body which, while nowhere near as built up as Rasaad's, was far more muscular than Viconia would have expected. He stroked the head of his cock idly and nodded toward her lower half. She stood up to show off her full figure, while Edwin reclined back slightly, still casually running his fingers up and down his shaft.

She unfastened her belt, took off her trousers and let her small clothes drop to her feet. It was intensely satisfying after having been rejected by Xan and ignored by Rasaad (in favour of Arowan of all people) to bask in this male's lust. She turned around, swishing her long silver hair down her naked back and allowing him a full view of her arse. Edwin's eyes were dancing now and his hand moving faster. At this rate he would be spent before she had a chance to seal their alliance.

She turned and bent over, brushing his hand away and replacing it with her mouth. Whatever she had done for Xan before it had not been enough, but Shar had thrown her a second opportunity for survival and she was not about to waste it. She took the whole of his length into her mouth at once making Edwin cry out with shock and pleasure. His hips bucked involuntarily. The next thing she knew his fingers were curling through her hair, pulling it slightly, and pushing her head back and forth over himself. Uncomfortable though it was, she appreciated the enthusiasm and endured it for as long as she could before she felt herself starting to gag. She pulled back and noticed light starting to glow in Edwin's palm.

"Very nice," he murmured, "I see the drow live up to their reputation. Now let me show you that my people do the same!"

Viconia hesitated. Allowing someone to place a spell on her was more vulnerability than she was comfortable with. On the other hand, by accompanying him to Thay she would be, at least initially, placing her life entirely in his hands. It was a necessary risk. She nodded her consent.

Edwin muttered some words and placed his hands on her hips, stroking them slowly up and down her torso as the warm light melted into her. At first it felt relaxing, like a hot massage, but then the heat migrated to her breasts and between her legs. She gave a loud moan of pleasure that for once was in no way exaggerated. Though he had not even touched her clit, she was tingling as though he had been working her for minutes with no effort on his part. Her breasts were swelling, suddenly feeling both uncomfortably full and aching to be touched. Inside though, she felt agonizingly empty. She _had_ to be filled and she had to be filled _now!_

Viconia tried to position herself over his erection but Edwin laughed cruelly and pushed her off him and onto the pillows.

"No, I think not," he sneered. "You need to earn it first."

"Impudent male!" snapped Viconia. Her red eyes flashed furiously, but Edwin had used this particular spell before and was well acquainted with its effects. She might be used to dominating men, but nobody was going to dominate him. If she wanted release she would have to do as she was told. He waited patiently, watching her pained expression as the heat burned her with desire, until finally she cracked. "Earn it how?"

"Hands," he ordered, with a downward nod. He sat on the edge of the bed, and Viconia knelt on a rug on the floor. One thing was certain, if he could not provide her with the pounding of a lifetime after this, then he would find himself impaled on something far less pleasant than a cock. She gripped him and stroked up and down a few times, then ran her fingers in teasing circles up and down the length. Her other hand cupped around his balls, stimulating them gently.

It was taking a lot of restraint on Edwin's part not to come too soon. Her full breasts moved with her arms as she stroked up and down him and the sight of it was enough to drive him near mad. What had Xan been thinking to give this up so quickly? Then there was her hair, silky silver and flowing over her shoulders down to her waist. He reached forward to tug it lightly again.

"What do you want?" he asked her.

"You," she answered, more honestly than she had expected.

"Specifically," he demanded. "Tell me what you want. Beg me, and perhaps I'll let you have it."

"I could walk downstairs, find a Flaming Fist officer twice your size and get what I want in minutes!" Viconia snapped angrily.

"True," mused Edwin, "But then you'd have to dress yourself, it'd take time to find someone, find a room… you might have to wait for them to come off duty… you could be in this state for hours."

"Ohhh…" Viconia moaned in protest. Her pussy was practically screaming to be filled. She scrambled off the floor, presented herself on the bed on all fours and said, "Fine! Have it your way! I want your cock, I want it now and if I don't get it I swear in the name of Shar that I will call your bluff and find myself a guardsman!"

Edwin smiled, enjoying his small victory.

"Good enough," he said and positioned himself behind her. He tormented her just a little longer, using his hand to trace his member in a circle around the labia, brushing over her clit. Then he paused, poised at the entrance as Viconia shivered with anticipation.

With a triumphant cry of pleasure, the Thayan penetrated her in a swift, harsh thrust. Viconia gasped out in satisfaction as he drove into her body over and over. One of his hands stroked down her back, grabbing a handful of hair on the way and pulling at it. The other tightened over her hip, driving her harder onto him.

Remembering, belatedly, that there was a second person involved in this, he released her hair and used his hand to work her clit which had been primed by the spell. She mewled with pleasure and came quickly, contracting her inner muscles over his shaft. Edwin was quick to follow, spilling his seed inside of her with a shuddering cry.

He collapsed onto her back, exhausted for a moment, then withdrew sharply leaving her feeling empty again. He flopped back onto the pillows, ready to take a quick rest before Viconia's room mate returned, only to find that he had worked his magic rather too well for his own good. She was not fulfilled yet by a long shot and within minutes, she was stimulating him with her hand again, ready for round two.


	37. Perfidy

Sunlight streamed through Xan's grubby window in the Elfsong Tavern and he sat up taking his first mournful breath of the day. He dressed slowly and set out toward the Ducal Palace like a man walking to the gallows. Or at least, how he had always _imagined_ a man would walk to the gallows until he had actually witnessed it first-hand. Eric had met his end with not so much resigned dignity as hysterical terror. Nevertheless it was with much trepidation that he set out to make his peace with Viconia. He dawdled at market stalls along the way, toying with the idea of trying to appease her with flowers or some small piece of jewellery. Still, he knew deep down that nothing less than his unswerving, eternal devotion would be enough to satisfy his mistress. Which is what, he had decided, he was willing to give to her. If that meant spending the rest of his short life as her spat on and scolded servant, then so be it.

At the same moment as Xan made up his mind, Edwin gave a shuddering groan and rolled off of Viconia. She propped herself up on one elbow, her silver hair cascading down her bare back, watching the wizard dispassionately. He was not repulsive, neither was he particularly attractive and his grandiose boasts of sexual prowess had turned out to be _mostly_ bluster.

'Marginally above average' was the rating she would give the Thayan were she being truthful. She needed him as an ally for now though, so this was not the time for honesty. Maybe later. Much later when she had settled in Thay and upgraded to a more powerful man-servant.

"It is true what they say about the red wizards then," she purred, stroking his chest. There was some muscle there, certainly more than Xan possessed, but also a distinct bit of paunch around the middle. He had overdone it on the perfume too. When they went for round two, Viconia had been obligated to opt for girl-on-top. There was a real danger of her suffocating on the fumes had it been the other way around.

"Indeed," he croaked, recovering somewhat and hoisting himself up onto his elbows. "But entertaining though this was, it is not sufficient for our partnership to proceed. Are we still in agreement as to what must be done?"

Viconia forced a strained smile. It wasn't as if she had many options left at this point. Even if Jaheira had not vanished with her mewling excuse for a husband, her leadership had become intolerable. Xan had abandoned her and Arrow was not powerful enough to protect her without the support of Rasaad. Besides she had no desire to follow the monk or the ranger around the slums of Baldur's Gate doling out soup to beggars.

That left Freya or Edwin. She did not doubt for an instant that she could wrap the sapphically-inclined werewolf around her finger and perhaps live comfortably in the Ducal Palace for a time. There was a 'but,' however, and it was a big 'but.' Freya was very much in the public eye, and Viconia knew how fickle a mob's mood could be. Lycanthrope, drow, Bhaalspawn and Sharran was a combination that had the potential to attract a pitchfork wielding crowd in very short order.

"Then it seems we have a witch to murder," she replied to Edwin, nibbling his lip teasingly. He laughed throatily but it seemed she was not going to get a third rise out of him in one day. It was hardly worth the effort anyway.

"Excellent!" said Edwin, standing up with rather more energy then Viconia would have expected given his recent exertions. His narrow eyes danced with malice and he was rubbing his fingers together in anticipation. He was more enthused about murdering Dynaheir than he had been about sleeping with Viconia, the drow noted, taking mild offence.

The first step of Edwin's grand scheme was to obtain the Soultaker dagger that they had taken from Durlag's tower. Currently this was in the possession of Rasaad. The monk did not prove difficult to locate. There was really only one place he could be. Viconia carefully covered her face and head then set out for the docks with her new lover in tow. The drow had little experience with naval matters but the expedition taught her very quickly to detest all things nautical.

There was the sea itself, as flat and endless as the horrible sky, only her fear of falling into it could really come true. There were the sailors themselves, with their disrespectful and threatening catcalling. The otherworldly screeching of gulls, the horrible stench of fish and the unwashed throng of humans and elves bustling all around her. At least Arrow's headscarf kept the nasty, salty sea breezes off of her face. Some probing of the locals by Edwin, lubricated by a gold coin or two, revealed that there was just one ship bound for Calimport that day. They found it and bribed their way aboard.

"Let us be quick," hissed Viconia anxiously. "I would hate to still be aboard when this cursed death-trap begins its journey!"

"You will need to board one to reach Thay," pointed out Edwin in an amused voice. The creaking wooden vessel bobbed gently in the sheltered water of the dock. Viconia started to look a little queasy.

They crept up on the monk who was meditating in a small passenger's cabin. At least he was sitting in a meditating pose, but he seemed a long way from experiencing inner peace. His face was contorted in an expression of murderous fury. Viconia took a step toward him, but Edwin placed a restraining hand on her arm. He focussed his powers carefully, charmed and stepped back sharply around the corner and out of sight. The monk felt something as the magical energy struck his back and turned around. The cleric summoned her flaming sword again ready for a fight, but the monk simply nodded at her sadly.

"Hello, my friend," simpered Viconia in a falsely sweet voice. "I came to check that you were alright."

Rasaad stared at her as though she were mad, but Edwin's charm had been successful and he answered her as though she were a trusted confidant.

"Alright? How could I be alright?" he cried, anguished. "Arowan has murdered my brother!"

"Murdered your brother?" Viconia blinked. She was here for a reason, and Edwin would not thank her for getting distracted, but the monk had peaked her curiosity with this bizarre statement.

"Maybe that is too strong," sighed the monk despairingly, burying his head into his hands, "But had I known the truth I would not have left my brother atop that mountain. We could have taken him to a temple and had him revived. I would have weaned him off of the numbing potions. I would have restored him."

"Not possible," said Viconia with certainty. "The nearest temple was too far away. By the time you got Gamaz to one it would probably have been far too late to attempt a resurrection spell."

" _Probably_ ," Rasaad echoed, laying a delicate stress on the word. "But not _certainly_. Arowan took away my chance to try and I can never really forgive her for it. Never."

From around the corner an impatient little cough reminded her both of Edwin's presence and the limited duration of charm spells. The ship's timbers gave a nasty little groan, which also prompted her to speed up the conversation.

"We will miss you," she told him, not entirely untruthfully. The moon monk's lame crush on Arrow and attachment to Selune were irritating character flaws to be sure. On the other hand she had found him rather pleasant to look at, particularly on those occasions when he had removed his shirt. He took personal hygiene unusually seriously for an adventurer, so by exercising a little stealth in the evenings, she'd had the opportunity to enjoy that view frequently during their travels.

"I will miss you too Viconia," replied Rasaad. Outside there was a lull in the barrage of sailors bellowing, and the distant squawk of a gull could just be made out. Then, prompted by the charm spell to be forthcoming, Rasaad added, "Though your beauty has caused me much discomfort during our adventures."

Edwin, who was listening to every word, snorted loudly. Viconia blinked her red eyes in surprise and shook her head with a wry smile. Well that was a true enough statement. Rasaad's reticence when it came to his own sexuality was perplexing to the drow, but also curiously endearing. She had found teasing him most entertaining, but with the exception of that incident with the succubus, she had never gotten a very satisfying response.

"Be that as it may," she said, suddenly feeling a little flustered herself, "Arrow sent me to retrieve the Soultaker dagger. The Grand Dukes demanded that she turn it over to them so that they can free the trapped souls. Obviously she can't collect it from you herself, given the circumstances, so she sent me."

"How could this happen?" poor charmed Rasaad asked in a hollow voice, fumbling through his pack and handing Viconia the dagger. She baulked. The foolish rivvil had just been carrying it loose in his bag! Had he no concept of how dangerous the artefact was? One little scratch and their souls would be lost forever! She hastily sheathed the Soultaker in a pair of stockings and stashed it into her pack. Now was the time to run before the charm wore off, but the monk looked so broken that she hesitated. "I love her," said the monk helplessly, "I thought she cared for me. How could she do this to me Viconia?"

Despite knowing that Rasaad would never be confiding his feelings in her like this in an uncharmed state, something about his sad, brown eyes gazing up into her own melted her a little. She sat down on the bed beside him and wrapped her arms around him comfortingly. Those muscles were as solid as they looked. His head drooped onto her shoulder, burying his face into her silver hair.

"Arrow clearly adored you," she sighed, with a bite of impatience in her voice at the monk's melodrama. "You could not have got your brother to a temple in time and I am in no doubt that Khalid would have died if we had attempted it instead of allowing him to heal from his injuries. Gamaz left you with little option but to kill him and she hid the truth from you to spare your feelings."

She stood up, knowing that she needed to get out before the spell wore off and Rasaad realised he had been tricked. To her horror, the man was crying again.

"You are weak moon monk!" she spat at him, her drow instincts kicking in and making her lash out, swift as an adder. "You slew a powerful enemy, spared yourself attachment to a weak female and now you have a home to go back to which is more than I can say! Desist this self-pity, it is revolting!"

She turned and stormed away. Edwin raised a questioning eyebrow as she passed him. She merely nodded in confirmation that she had his dagger and he smiled a smug, superior smile. They disembarked and he held out his hands, muttering to himself gleefully when she handed him the Soultaker dagger. He unwrapped and inspected it for himself, then pulled his own dagger from its sheath and tossed it aside, replacing it with this one. The discarded weapon clinked away on the cobblestones but was quickly snatched up by a passing urchin.

"Yes, this will make everything so much easier," he smiled devilishly. He shoved the drow's stockings which had been wrapping the dangerous blade into his pocket. Viconia looked at him with a vexed expression.

"Will it?" she demanded, "The monk is sure to come after us once your magic wears off!"

"Then shall we make haste, dearest?" asked Edwin, laying a sarcastic stress upon the pet name. Viconia's scarlet eyes narrowed dangerously. Given how speedy Rasaad could be, the answer was clearly yes, and for all the Red Wizard's feigned indifference he ran alongside her back to the palace.

"Make yourself invisible again. I have an idea," she whispered to him when they were just around the corner. She walked up to the guard on door-duty, uncoiling her headscarf as she went. "Arowan has said she would prefer not to see the monk, Rasaad yn Bashir again," she lied boldly. "If he turns up here send him on his way, and be warned that he may attempt to force the issue."

"Yes ma'am. No problem," the young guard said dutifully. "That were quite a drama them two had on the scaffold weren't it?"

"Indeed. You saw how angry he was. I think he might try to kill her in revenge now," Viconia continued, elaborating on the original deception. "I bet he would say _anything_ to get to her. He'd make up any story."

"I think we're smart enough to see through anything like that," the guard replied, tapping her nose with a wink. "You can count on us ma'am!"

Viconia stepped over the threshold with a wicked smile. That should stall the sunny soul for a while.

"I am impressed," the invisible Edwin whispered behind her as they hurried up the red velvet staircase. It must have been a magnificent great rug once, but constant abuse by Freya's large, muddy boots had already wrecked it. "Viconia, you will do well in Thay."

Maybe too well. Her sleek capacity for improvised deception alongside her treacherous nature were useful now, but she could just as easily end up turning on him. Maybe taking her home with him was not such a wise career move… but one problem at a time. Deal with the witch first, then find an excuse to ditch the cleric.

They reached the floor with all the guest rooms and Viconia strode down it confidently, shadowed by Edwin. She did not feel any need to be stealthy since this was, of course, exactly where she was supposed to be. They passed the door leading to Arrow and Imoen's room, bypassing the one Viconia shared with Safana and the smaller one where Coran was currently bunking alone.

She paused, listening, at the door to the room Dynaheir shared with her bodyguard Minsc. There were no sounds coming from within. Nevertheless, she opened her bag and took out a selection of strengthening and agility potions which she swallowed in quick succession. They burned slightly slipping down her throat, and a wonderful feeling of power flooded through her. She looked around her for some direction from Edwin. This was his plan after all, but she was unsure exactly where the invisible Thayan was standing.

"Do you suppose she shags that addled warrior?" she speculated to break the tension.

"Simian mating rituals are of limited interest to me," whispered Edwin, as Viconia began casting blessing and armour spells over herself. "Now summon that burning blade of yours and open the door. I will provide cover fire. Do not kill the witch! I must stab her with Soultaker, otherwise they might be able to revive her and all of this will have been for nothing."

"Understood," whispered Viconia, concentrating on her petition for Shar's blessing. Her weapon appeared, crackling with heat in her palm. With a nod at Edwin, she turned the handle and kicked the door in, hard.

There was no response, and after scanning the room quickly with her eyes, she sagged in disappointment. Beside her Edwin cursed under his breath. There were no travelling cloaks or shoes and they had taken their packs with them. It seemed that the Rashemen pair had gone out.

"Very well, we will wait for them," Edwin huffed in irritation. "Patience Odesseiron, patience… you have waited this long…"

They stepped inside, but luck was on Dynaheir's side that day. Arrow was returning from distributing her remaining gold among the beggars outside the palace. She would have little use for extra money in the Cloud Peak mountains. As she rounded the corner she was alarmed to catch sight of Viconia's dark ankle and flaming blade vanishing into the witch's private room. Her eyes were almost too puffy from crying to roll them. Almost, but not quite.

She hovered in the hallway, picking unconsciously at the gold leaf wallpaper, her brown eyes narrowed at the closed door. If she screamed for the guards now, and the gods knew Viconia deserved it, then she could be rid of her hated rival in a very permanent way. There could only be one reason for Viconia lurking about that room so armed. One way or another, Edwin had managed to get to her, and now she was doing his dirty work for him.

The ranger dithered, taking far longer to make up her mind than she strictly speaking ought to have done. The truth was that for all of the crying god's doctrine of forgiveness, she was itching to settle the score with Viconia. Still, she knew she'd regret it if she actually ended up watching the drow swing. The same grotesque mob who had scooped up samples of her brother's glittering dust would no doubt appreciate some silvery drow hair to add to their collections. Or perhaps Officer Vai would take her scalp for her wig shop. The mental image of Viconia's disembodied silver hair draped over a shop dummy with a price tag attached brought Arrow back to her senses. Of course, she wouldn't call the guards.

With a reluctant sigh she retrieved her quiver and arrows from her room. Imoen had collapsed into a shivering sleep. Dried tears for Eric clung to her pale face and her pink hair was all mussed up over the pillow. It had taken on a lank, unwashed quality and there were great grey sacs beneath her eyes. Arrow decided to let her sleep and set off after Viconia alone.

She marched herself down the corridor and thrust open the oak door to Dynaheir's room. Then she stepped back sharply, but the missiles and spells she expected to be ambushed with never came.

"Don't attack me Viconia," Arrow snapped. "It's me, and I don't have the witch with me. I'm coming in now. We need to have a serious talk."

She stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar, but there was no sign of the drow. She waited for what felt like ages but wherever Viconia was hiding she seemed in no hurry to come out. Arrow shrugged and sat down on Safana's bed. She wasn't going to be fooled, she knew what she saw. At length the cleric gave up on trying to make the ranger think she had made a mistake and stepped out from behind a dresser, one hand holding her flaming sword, the other resting on her hip defiantly.

"Don't do it Viconia," sighed Arrow wearily.

"What exactly is it you think I'm going to do?" asked Viconia delicately. There was a shadow in her eyes and her expression was dangerous, like a fox watching a cornered chicken.

"Dynaheir is a good person," said Arrow, missing the vibe and standing up. "You'd be far better off siding with her than that creep Edwin, and besides if you assassinate her now, you'll get caught. I've seen you here, I'd be forced to turn you in!"

"You won't do that," the other woman replied with certainty.

"Yes, I will Viconia," insisted Arrow seriously. "Ilmatari are forgiving but that doesn't mean I can let you stroll around the city murdering whoever you feel like. If anything happens to Dynaheir I will have to report it."

"Not… _necessarily_."

There was something about the drow's tone that Arrow didn't like. Viconia had slipped sideways to position herself between the ranger and the door. She was looking at her with a twisted smile.

"Oh," said Arrow, raising her bow as the penny finally dropped. _"Shit!"_

The ranger knew at once that she was in serious trouble. She was an excellent archer but useless in melee and reliant on cover from the rest of her party. Worse, Viconia had known a fight was coming and had prepared in advance. The tell-tale shimmer of magical energy around her told Arrow that she had loaded herself with potions and protection charms.

Adrenaline coursed through Arrow as she looked for a way out. There was a window but it was too small and too high to jump out of easily. Besides they were some height above street level. Viconia was barring her way to the only exit, eyeing her calculatingly.

The drow had not struck at her yet. Arrow would have time to fire once before that evil flame sword reached her and Viconia was bracing herself for it. Clearly the cleric's plan was to let that one shot hit her, and then take the archer down. There was no way, especially with Viconia's protection spells active, that she would be able to fell the cleric with a single arrow.

"Why are you doing Edwin's dirty work for him?" Arrow asked angrily, in an attempt to buy herself some more time. If she could keep the Sharran talking a little longer there was always a chance that Minsc and Dynaheir might come back.

"It's nothing personal Arowan," Viconia sneered. "If I help him kill his witch, I get his protection. Though I must admit, after tolerating you and Jaheira barking orders at me all this time, killing you will make a refreshing change of pace. Alright. Maybe it _is_ personal."

"We saved your life!" cried Arrow, aghast. "We took you in!"

While she kept the cleric talking, she was thinking. Viconia had inadvertently told her something when she said 'help him kill his witch.' Help. Not do it for him. That meant Edwin was here, and if he was hiding, that suggested he had used most of his protection spells on the melee fighter instead of himself. She scanned the room as Viconia launched into a long and predictably scathing response, letting her know exactly how foolish she had been to shelter a drow in the first place and every mistake she had made since.

" _Come on Eddy,"_ thought Arrow, scanning the room. _"Where are you?"_

There! One of the red velvet curtains drawn back from the window was fatter than the other. It was also moving, just slightly. Without warning, and cutting Viconia off mid-sentence, Arrow spun about and fired at the spot where she expected Edwin's upper torso to be.

There was a thud, and then a loud ripping sound as the Thayan fell, dragging the curtain and half the rail down as he went. He landed prone on the ground, still pinned to the drapes by the arrow shaft, which Arrow was satisfied to see had pierced his lung. Blood was bubbling from his mouth but he was neither moving nor making a sound. A fatal shot. The shock had rendered him immediately unconscious and without healing he would be dead very soon.

Viconia's expression had changed from one of triumph to grave alarm.

"Better tend to him quick Viconia," taunted Arrow. She drew her hunting dagger. There was no way she would be able to survive hand to hand combat with Viconia but she could keep her occupied long enough for Edwin to die. "If you lose him you've got no one else now and I know for a fact that you don't have enough gold for a revival."

"Yes but you do!" the cleric said softly.

"Nope. Gave all my gold away," panted Arrow. "Not much use for gold in the Cloud Peaks so I handed all but a few coins to the beggars outside. Bet you're kicking yourself now? You shouldn't have wasted all your money on buying Xan those fancy books!"

Viconia gnashed her teeth together. The drow seemed to be swelling with rage. "You gave it away to beggars? You really are pathetic! Even that snivelling elf had more backbone!"

" _I'm_ pathetic?" retorted Arrow. "At least I don't throw myself at every man I see. On the subject of which, Viconia, your latest conquest isn't doing so good."

Edwin had lost an alarming amount of blood but more than that, he wasn't breathing. With every heartbeat a fresh wave of red had erupted from his wound but these pulses were becoming weaker with each passing second. His hands were turning blueish-grey.

"Oh, so now the truth comes out!" Viconia hissed. "Lady Virtue is just as hateful as the rest of us. Admit it, you've always despised me! I've seen the way you look at me when I talk to the moon monk."

"You're right, I don't like you Viconia, though the gods know I tried! I make no apology for it either. Ilmater commands me to shelter the _weak_ but he doesn't say I have to enjoy doing it," Arrow replied. Viconia raised her weapon, but the ranger pointed a warning finger at Edwin. "Tick-tock Viconia! You don't have the gold to revive him and you're running out of time."

"I'll strip your body and sell your equipment!" she raged.

"Yeah right!" Arrow actually laughed at this. "How are the people of Baldur's Gate going to react to a drow selling bloodstained gear while dragging a human man's corpse around? Because you can't leave the wizard here! You think when Dynaheir returns and finds his body in her bedroom she's just going to hand him back to you?"

Viconia hissed and lowered her sword.

"Perhaps you are slightly less stupid than I thought, Arowan," she conceded.

"Best get on with it Viconia," the ranger sneered.

With a snarl, the drow turned from her and skidded to Edwin's side. Wasting no time, Arrow hurled herself toward the exit. As she reached the doorway, a hot streak of firey pain roasted her side. Viconia had thrown her flaming sword at her retreating back, and though she did not throw it with enough skill or strength to actually pierce Arrow's flank, the ranger was badly burned.

The summoned blade flickered out of existence and Arrow half-ran, half-collapsed along the corridor and down the staircase. At the bottom were two guards who sprang to attention at the sight of her. Arguing with them, and each other, were the last two people she expected to see.

"You're mad, human!" Xan was raging at Rasaad. "How could Viconia have charmed you, and what use would she have for the Soultaker dagger?"

"Let me through!" Rasaad demanded, ignoring Xan and yelling at the guards. "Arrow and the others are in danger, I have to warn them!"

"Xan?" Arrow managed weakly. "Rasaad?"

The two men turned and looked at her, both going rather pale as they took in her injury. For a moment, Rasaad forgot to be angry with her. Xan, on the other hand, was breathing in the burning smell of her flesh and leathers and taking in the large scorch wound. Undeniably, it did look like Viconia's work.

"We stopped the monk, just like you asked!" the guard told Arrow proudly. Arrow slung her arm over the young woman's shoulder and used her to steady herself.

"I asked no such thing," panted Arrow, clutching her side in agony. Sweat was pouring down her forehead from the pain. "I take it Viconia instructed you to do that?"

"That's right ma'am!" trilled the guard. Arrow stared at the dim doorwoman, who was looking ridiculously pleased with herself and shrugged helplessly. There was no cure for that level of stupid.

"Arowan?" Rasaad gaped, "What happened?"

"Viconia," replied Arrow breathing heavily. Blood and some other clear fluid was gushing from the wound and down her hand, hot and sticky. "She's working with Edwin… Attacked me…"

"A charm spell!" cried Xan. "You look after the ranger. I'll rescue Viconia!"

"She isn't charmed!" Arrow called after him irately, but it was a futile effort. Deaf to what he did not want to believe and moonblade readied, Xan pelted up the steps two at a time, into the room that Arrow had just vacated.

"Here, I have healing potions," said Rasaad. He watched with concerned eyes as Arrow drank them one after another. The wound healed, and new pink flesh replaced the burnt tissue. Where the sharp edge of the flaming blade had struck though, there was an angry knotted mark. This was going to leave a scar. "What do you suppose she wanted the Soultaker for?"

"They were going to use it on Dynaheir," said Arrow, angrily. "I don't know why I'm surprised. Edwin was itching to take that weapon for himself as soon as he found it. I suppose the idea is that it would stop her being resurrected."

"I cannot believe Viconia would do such a thing," said Rasaad. Then he looked back at Arrow. Now that she was out of immediate danger, the anger he had felt before was starting to creep back and he added, "But it seems I am a poor judge of character."

Arrow was long in the habit of suppressing her feelings. Her lonely childhood in Candlekeep, for which everyone always told her she should be so grateful, had set her on that path from an early age. Following the teachings of Ilmater had further honed her bottling skills into an art form. The price for this constant stoicism, however, was that when she did snap she snapped hard.

"GET OUT!" she hollered. The commotion had attracted some attention and heads were starting to emerge from the landings. Imoen was peering down at her, and framed at the top of the stairs Freya, the great golden werewolf, was watching her sister with a quizzical expression.

Colour rushed to Rasaad's face and his muscles tensed. Even after what she had done, he had come to warn her about Viconia and healed her injuries. He had missed his boat and would have to find work to afford to book passage on another. By what conceivable, twisted logic was she angry with him? Arrow, conversely, had been picked up and dropped repeatedly by the monk and she was sick to death of it.

"Get out," she repeated in a cold, pained voice. She notched an arrow and pointed it at his kneecap. "Do not make me tell you again."

Upstairs, Xan stood framed in the doorway, panting and livid. Viconia's head shot up, staring at him in utter shock as if she could not believe her own ruby eyes. Edwin was sitting up in a pool of his own blood. The arrow was lying on the floor beside him and he was conscious once more, but in obvious agony as Viconia continued to weave her healing magics.

"LET HER GO!" thundered Xan.

Edwin gave a dark little chuckle.

"She is not under any spell, magic-monkey," the Thayan replied.

"Viconia, what is this?" the elf cried in disbelief.

"You abandoned me!" cried Viconia defensively, dropping Edwin's head. It hit the hardwood floor with a loud crack and he grunted in pain, clutching at the not-quite-healed spot where Arrow's shot had pierced his lung.

"So you decided to work for _him?_ " Xan shrieked.

"She does more than work for me," sneered Edwin from the floor. "No chance of her wishing to ride you again. Not now that she has experienced a real wizard's cock."

Blood pounded in Xan's ears, and he fought back the urge to vomit. This was a bad dream, it had to be. His Viconia with… with Edwin? He felt as though the pair of them had reached into him and pulled his insides out.

"Viconia?" he managed weakly. His moonblade hung loosely in his palm.

"Why did you come back?" she howled.

The pair of them locked eyes with each other. Xan's were wet with sorrow, and his whole body was shaking. He tried to speak but he couldn't find the words. All his predictions of doom and his speculation about how badly wrong things would go had turned out to be optimistic. He had endured Mulahey's cave, yet this feeling was so much worse than anything he had imagined possible. Viconia yearned for the power to cast wish or a time or memory altering spell. She had given up on Xan too quickly, but now it was over, hopeless.

"It doesn't matter now," said Xan in a barely audible whisper. "Goodbye Viconia."

The elf turned and bolted, almost knocking Imoen over in his haste to get away. Without so much as bidding Arrow and Rasaad goodbye, he ran from the Ducal palace and did not stop running. His feet carried him rapidly from the city, pausing only when he collapsed from exhaustion. He rested by the side of the road where he fell. In the morning, he rose and carried on fleeing until he was back within the walls of Evereska, which he would never leave again.

Xan spent the next few years trying to forget about Viconia, keeping nothing of her except the leather-bound History of the Drow that she had gifted to him. These became required reading for every new student of Xan's, in order that they might be forewarned and not repeat his mistakes. He avoided hearing talk of the outside world and for a long time assumed that she had been hanged for the attempted murder of Dynaheir. The thought tore at his soul whenever he closed his eyes.

However, as much to her own surprise as anyone else's, Viconia did not hang. Arrow refused to tell the Flaming Fist what had transpired in Dynaheir's bedroom, though judging by her expression the Rashemen woman could hazard a guess. Edwin stumbled out into the street clutching at his chest. He was tailed discretely by Freya, who warned the Thayan in no uncertain terms of the fate that awaited him if she scented him anywhere near her party again.

"This is the last time I protect you," Arrow told Viconia icily, at the door to the Ducal Palace. "The very last time. Next time we meet it will be as enemies, and Viconia?"

"Yes?" the Sharran replied acidly.

"If you throw this chance away and end up forcing me to kill you, I am not going to feel the least bit guilty about it." Arrow smiled at Viconia sarcastically. "Just so you know."

"Neither will I rivvil," the drow promised her, taking her hand in an ironic gesture of sisterhood. "Neither will I."


	38. Jessa's Hair Emporium

"This is so disgusting!" moaned Imoen. "Why is it that whenever I hang out with you, I end up being totally grossed out?"

"Human disgusting!" yipped the young kobold. "Me the one grossed out!"

"Just hold your head in there a little longer," said Arrow, her voice muffled through her sleeve, "And try not to breathe."

Imoen was not exaggerating. What they were up to was undeniably disgusting. They were wading knee-deep through sludgy filth in the sewers under Baldur's Gate. The smell of excrement was overpowering and, unlike Arrow, Imoen did not possess a ranger's constitution. She struggled not to succumb to the fumes.

To make it worse the pair of them were vigorously smushing their hair into the scales of a family of kobolds, in an attempt to deliberately infect themselves with lice. Arrow's hair had grown back to form a good solid covering over her scalp, but she was not confident that she would be allowed into Jessa's Hair Emporium. Suffice it to say that when she and Jessa Vai had first met in Beregost, the pair of them had not hit it off. So Arrow had brought Imoen with her as backup. 'For an adventure!'

"You couldn't have dragged Rasaad into the sewers to do this?" complained Imoen miserably.

"Rasaad and I are… erm… not on speaking terms," replied Arrow. By which she meant that she had threatened to shoot him in the kneecap as she had once done to poor, deceased Montaron unless he cleared off. She had avoided discussing the topic of the moon monk with Imoen but the truth was she had not set eyes on him in days and, frankly, she felt her spirits lifting in his absence. "Besides Rasaad is bald."

"All the more reason for him to get a wig!" scowled Imoen. She could taste the sewage in the air, but this was not incentivising her to close her mouth instead of grumbling. "What about your new pal, Coran then? He has a better reason to get a wig than me anyway, his hair is ridiculous!"

Arrow rolled her eyes. When it came to gossip the pink haired girl was like a blood-hound. It had not occurred to the ranger to invite Coran down here. He was not a sewer kind of man, and though his attention the last few days was undeniably entertaining, she was not really on favour-asking terms with him just yet. Especially since Coran might want payment for his help that she was not willing to provide. She had no intention of becoming yet another notch on his bedpost. Frankly that seemed like an invitation for every venereal Jaheira had ever warned her about to take up residence in her knickers at once!

Instead she planned to leave for the Cloud Peaks just as soon as she heard from Khalid and Jaheira. Still, against her better judgement, she had agreed to have dinner with Coran. After months of angst with the taciturn monk she felt that a casual date with a fun, happy and wholly transparent rogue might prove a well-deserved morale booster. Imoen lifted her head from the kobold she had been rubbing and it hopped away hastily to wash itself in the sewer water.

"Mommy I don't _want_ to!" wailed a very small kobold puppy when it was his turn to be rubbed. "They stink!"

"No be rude!" yipped the kobold's mother, giving him a sharp clip around the back of the head.

"What do we stink of?" asked Imoen. The kobold's mother glared at her for encouraging bad behaviour in her offspring, but the pink haired girl shrugged disarmingly. "You live in a sewer, what is coming off of us that you find so repulsive? I'm just curious."

"Milk," replied the kobold mother repressively.

"Milk?" Arrow frowned, her own curiosity peaked.

"Humans really yucky!" piped up the young kobold, warming to his subject matter, as his mother tried to shush him. "Did you know? Did you know? Humans squeeze white pus out of slave animals and drink it! It really true!"

Arrow and Imoen snorted with laughter, but it was cut short by a large slop of green slime dropping from the ceiling and down Imoen's cleavage. The pink haired girl screwed up her eyes and whined. At least this was just regular ooze rather than the lethal sentient kind. A familiar itch was starting at the base of their necks. Kobold lice, as they knew from experience, were insanely infectious to humans. Their work here was done.

"But it _true!_ " the kobold infant was wailing as his furious mother reprimanded him.

"I believe you," smiled Arrow, crouching down to the kobold's level. "Thank you, we appreciate your time. Here you go. Fifty fire arrows, as promised." The kobold mother snatched the arrows up and herded her rambunctious brood away with a disapproving backward glance at the pair of them. "C'mon Immy. Let's get out of here."

"Fifty arrows?" muttered Imoen darkly. "Couldn't just shoot them like a normal adventurer, could you?"

Part two of Arrow's plan was going to be even more revolting. They were headed to Jessa's Hair Emporium, a popular wig shop whose patrons included Arrow's adopted guardian, Jaheira. The wigs had a reputation for exquisite quality, in fact when placed on the owner's head they were quite indistinguishable from human hair.

Unfortunately, this was because they _were_ human hair. Where others had seen an iron crisis, the entrepreneurial Officer Vai had spotted an opportunity. She had placed a generous bounty on the scalps of bandits slain on the road by adventurers. Notionally this was to purge the trading routes of dangerous brigands. In reality the corrupt cop had been preserving them in order to stock her wig shop.

Irritatingly, as Khalid had pointed out, all of this was perfectly legal. Officer Vai had acquired the scalps through legitimate channels and in any case the Flaming Fist were notorious for protecting their own. Even if it turned out that she had violated some regulation or other, it was unlikely that the police of Baldur's Gate would investigate or prosecute her. Especially since this would mean her cancelling her retirement and returning to her day job. Arrow had heard that Lieutenant Corwin was set to take over her position, and from what she had seen of her it seemed unlikely that the brusque soldier would relinquish her promotion over a few dead bandits.

So Arrow was having to resort to… alternative tactics.

She and Imoen climbed out of the sewer, ignoring the disgusted glances from passing citizens. They returned to the Ducal Palace first for a wash, earning horrified gasps from the domestic staff. Arrow cringed guiltily. Freya with her muddy boots, moulting fur and periodic bouts of drooling had generated enough extra work for them. Now here she was leaving sewer drippings on the Grand Dukes' long-suffering red velvet carpets.

As the two girls were drying themselves on towels (which would need to be thrown away afterward, the power of soap has its limits) there were two loud bangs that made the door shake. Arrow looked up in alarm. She reached for her weapons and had her bow half-raised when Imoen trilled out cheerfully;

"Come on in, Freya!"

The door opened and the six-foot-three human-Labrador that was Freya ducked into the room carrying her helmet under her arm. She was wearing full armour. It was odd that, even in the comfort and luxury of the Ducal Palace, Arrow never saw her without it. Once she had bumped into Freya coming out of the privy in the middle of the night. She had even been kitted up then.

"Alright, do me," Freya said, pulling her flowing blonde hair loose from its band and bending forward to shake out her mane. It was so pretty, shiny and yellow like puppy fur, that even Arrow wanted to stroke it. Imoen laughed and rubbed her scalp vigorously against Freya's. They looked like a pair of rutting stags minus the antlers. Freya stood up and scratched her scalp vigorously. "Damn, I'm itching already. Those little bastards work fast don't they?"

"Better not transform like that or we'll never get them out of that fur coat of yours," Imoen teased.

"What is happening here?" asked Arrow, bewildered.

"Freya came to help!" said Imoen brightly. "It's a family adventure now!"

"I wanted to pitch in. I didn't realise what Jessa wanted those scalps for and I… er… can't help but feel partly responsible," Freya admitted sheepishly.

"Partly?" thundered Arrow. "You personally supplied almost every scalp in her shop! You are entirely responsible!"

"Is she always like this with people who are trying to help her?" Freya asked Imoen casually.

"I didn't see you volunteering to help us in the sewers!" snapped Arrow resentfully.

"I don't do sewers unless I really have to," said Freya. Arrow gave her a scathing look. "Give me a break. My sense of smell is twenty times more powerful than yours. Now, while we're both here we need to talk."

Freya was looking at her with an unusually serious expression. Arrow glared up at her stern face defiantly. _She_ wasn't about to fall for her sister's artificially inflated charisma. If the blonde warrior imagined that she was in charge of her she could think again.

"Imoen says you plan on leaving Baldur's Gate," Freya said. Arrow nodded curtly and explained her intention to head South as soon as she heard from Khalid and Jaheira. Freya shrugged. "Well, you can't."

"So I'm a prisoner, is that it?" demanded Arrow. She had been afraid something like this might happen. Freya had been responsible for the deaths of two of their siblings in as many weeks, and though both of the dead brothers were unquestionably evil, Arrow did not entirely trust her not to find some excuse to do the same to her.

"No, you're not a prisoner. Well…" Freya conceded, "No more than I am anyway."

"If this is about the Hooded Man," Arrow began.

"The Hooded Man?" Freya blinked. "You mean Eric's master right? Yeah, obviously this is about him. Arrow, were you ever asleep when he was conducting his experiments on our brother?"

"Only once. I went out of my way to avoid it," Arrow admitted.

"Well I didn't often have the luxury of choosing when I slept," said Freya. Arrow scowled at her. "I saw it a lot, I felt it. I'm no stranger to pain and battle injuries but this was on a whole different level. I won't stop you from leaving if you're really hell bent, but if you do you won't have the protection of me or the Flaming Fist. He'll catch you the moment you step outside the gate, and believe me you do not want to be his captive."

"The big bad wolf is afraid of the Hooded One. Didn't Gorion used to have a storybook about that?" goaded Arrow. She did not like the idea of needing the protection of her stronger, prettier more heroic sister one little bit. Yet common sense was telling her that Freya may have a point.

"I'm familiar with that book," Freya replied darkly. "I believe the wolf ended up being eviscerated?"

"Please don't say that," said Imoen in a small voice. "Don't even joke about it. I've lost so many of you already." Then she turned to Arrow, and to the ranger's horror her eyes were flooding with tears again. "I can't bear to lose any more. Please don't leave Arrow. Don't let him catch you. Please!"

Arrow opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. She had no desire whatsoever to stay in the Ducal Palace. The perfumed lords with their daft frilly cuffs and misplaced sense of self-superiority made her bristle when so many were suffering just outside the gates. There was little she could do here though. Whereas the Cloud Peak villages really needed her. There she could both be free of the bustling city and make a real difference. Yet she remembered the searing, unbearable pain of the Hooded Man's torture, and the state he had left Eric in was still fresh in her mind. There was too much truth in their words to ignore.

She postponed having to answer by hurrying them out of the door in the direction of Jessa's Hair Emporium. Her plan was to try on as many wigs as possible and infest them with kobold lice. When Jessa's well-off customers realised the source of the infestation her reputation would be ruined, and her disgusting scalp shop forced to close.

"I sleep in my armour," Freya mentioned casually as they stepped out into the street. "I don't dare take it off except to wash in case he comes for me in my bed."

Arrow could think of no response to this. She stared silently down the road leading out of Baldur's Gate that she longed to follow to the Cloud Peak mountains. There the Hooded Man was waiting for her, probably hoping to trap her in some replica of Gamaz's grotesque dungeon. She sighed, a miserable resigned sigh.

"Then I guess I'm staying," she said. Beside her Freya nodded in approval and Imoen sagged with relief. Then she thought of Officer Vai and a vindictive smile crept across her lips. She scratched her scalp where the kobold lice were happily taking to their new human habitat. "Now let's go spoil some wigs!"

The three of them had a fun time at the wig shop testing out different hair, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that these had once been the scalps of living people. Every so often, one of the more distinctive wigs would catch Freya's grey eye and she would wince. No doubt some of the bandits she had scalped stuck in her mind more than others. Yet they derived some gallows humour when Imoen put on one that bore a striking resemblance to Coran and pretended to flirt with the pair of them. Finally, when it became clear that the trio had no serious intention of buying anything, Jessa's shop assistant shooed them out. By then the damage was done and the lice were settling into their morbid new homes.

The Bhaalspawn returned to the Ducal Palace and used the last of Jaheira's bright orange potion to delouse their hair. By night time they were settling down into their pillows, reflecting with satisfaction upon a job well done.

Rasaad was not enjoying such a peaceful sleep. He was dreaming about the Cloud Peak mountains. Arrow was there, looking as she had when they had first climbed it, before her head was shaved. He was trying to follow her to the temple but the deep snow was dragging at his legs and he could not keep up. Though a swirling icy blizzard almost hid her from his sight, he followed her to the peak of the mountain. There, on that hateful, moonlit ledge where he had been forced to slay his brother, she stopped and her hair fell out. When she turned back to face him he found himself looking not at Arrow, but his brother Gamaz.

"Gamaz, why are you doing this?" asked Rasaad, his voice cracking. The cold mountain air was cutting through his skin and tightening his chest so badly that it was difficult to breathe. He shivered, but Gamaz seemed to feel nothing. He uncorked a grey bottle of numbing potion, releasing another wave of icy cold from the neck as he did so. As he drank it the temperature seemed to drop even further and when he replied his voice sounded distant and far away.

"Becoming more powerful was the last thing I really cared about before... before I stopped caring," came Gamaz's strange reply. "So I just carried on… but you know that now don't you?"

"Brother that is insane!" cried Rasaad. "I do not understand! If you no longer care, then why are you doing this?"

"Why not?" Gamaz asked vacantly.

"How could you do this to me?" Rasaad howled, knowing with despair that there was nothing he could do to help his brother. Maybe there was once, but now it was far too late. Gamaz collapsed, dead, leaving a man shaped groove in the deep snow. The monk ran forward to dig his brother out but when he reached the snowy grave he found it contained not Gamaz but Arrow.

Her long dark hair that he loved so much had regrown, but she looked different. She seemed somehow more confident in death and she gave off an aura of glacial power. Her eyes were closed, her face blue and frozen but strangely her death was not the only thing about her that felt viscerally wrong.

"How could you do this to me?" he whispered into the grave. Arowan's eyelids shot open but the eyes beneath them were not her own. Instead of kind and brown they were a solid pupilless gold. The eyes of a god. She smiled up at Rasaad, a twisted half-smile.

"Why not?"

Rasaad woke up screaming, and looked around to find himself sleeping in the streets for the first time since the Sun Soul monk in Calimport had first taken him and his brother in. He had to remind himself that he was no longer a small, vulnerable boy, and while he may have no gold there was no danger of a beating from the local yobs. A disgruntled beggar who had been woken by his cries gathered up his sack of meagre possessions and limped away, muttering crossly.

"Psst!" a man hissed, poking him in the back with a crutch. With a jolt, Rasaad recognized him as the beggar man to whom Arrow had given a hundred gold pieces on her way into Baldur's Gate. He seemed to have purchased himself some warmer clothes and looked better fed than the last time he had seen him. The beggar pressed his finger to his lips, glanced around conspiratorially, and pressed three of Arrow's gold coins into his palm. Then he fled as fast as his uninjured legs would carry him.

"Wait!" cried Rasaad, jumping up and running after him, but clearly the beggar did not trust him not to steal the rest of his fortune. The monk was faster but the beggar knew the back alleys and rooftops of Baldur's Gate and was easily able to lose him.

The monk was left standing alone with the gold coins in his hand, watching the morning light reflecting off of them. At least, until the shadow of a man appeared before him and blocked the light out.

"Rasaad yn Bashir," the Hooded Man said coldly. Rasaad could just make out his face beneath the hood. It looked unnaturally pale and stretched. "I have been searching for you. You are close to the ranger Arowan are you not? I am sure you would not wish to see her harmed."

"You dare threaten her?" cried Rasaad. He aimed a strike at the Hooded Man, but the wizard immobilized him with cold indifference. The monk froze mid-kick unable to do anything but curse him.

"My name is Irenicus," the man said. "And I come to you with an offer. I only need one Bhaalspawn for my purposes and I'd rather it be Freya. Deliver her to me alone, outside of the city walls. If you do, I will leave Arowan alone."

"I'd die before I'd help you!" snarled Rasaad, though the words came out unintelligible through his frozen lips. Irenicus seemed unfazed by his refusal.

"How noble you are," Irenicus said with a sneer. "How unlike your brother. I have just returned from a trip South to see Gamaz's workshop for myself. I admit I was quite intrigued after Eric described it to me. I have been considering a similar investment myself."

Rasaad could not move his arms but his hands balled into tight, angry fists around Arrow's coins.

"I took his experimental notes for recreational reading, they were very extensive," Irenicus continued icily. "Gamaz was an interesting man. It's a shame you killed him. You, however, are not. I will take my leave of you now. Remember what Arowan was almost subjected to in your brother's workshop and rest assured that mine will be exponentially worse. Meditate on that and on my offer. My associates will be in touch Rasaad… just in case you change your mind."

_**~Fin** _


End file.
